


Songs, Symbols, and Selection

by fabfemmeboy



Series: Sincere Baked Goods [16]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 08:11:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13072770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabfemmeboy/pseuds/fabfemmeboy
Summary: As it becomes clear that three-way dating isn't going to work, Kurt has some decisions to make.





	1. Chapter 1

Looking back, he was pretty sure it had been the worst idea ever.  
  
Puck supposed he couldn't fault Kurt  _too_  badly for thinking sex would fix things - he had kind of learned from the master, right? After all, until Saturday Puck would have stated without question that there was no situation that couldn't at least be made better by having sex. Okay, with a few caveats: having sex with your boy's girlfriend was probably not going to make things better.  
  
And having sex with your boyfriend's boyfriend was also not going to make things better, either.   
  
In his defense, they practically begged him into it, and he was never one to turn down people begging him for sex. There were just things he hadn't counted on. First and foremost, he thought he'd gotten used to the whole 'sex involving more than one dick' thing - he had. But apparently 'sex with more than two dicks' was his breaking point. It wasn't a matter of being that turned-off by watching Kurt get it on with some other dude; that had never been a problem with the chicks he screwed. After all, what better way to know how fucking good he was, than to know how fucking  _bad_  the other guy trying to get her off was? Not like he sat and watched or shit - that was g-...okay, fine, it was fucking stupid. But knowing the MILFs weren't being satisfied by their husbands or, whatever, the gardener or whoever else? Total turn-on. It upped his stud-cred.  
  
This was different. For one thing, Kurt was enjoying himself. He enjoyed himself quite a bit - and not just what Puckzilla was doing. Blaine was barely better than a virgin - except that mouth of his, goddamn - but apparently did things Kurt liked, and that was a pretty big buzzkill. For another...he wasn't sure how to say it. Not like he wanted to think about Quinn and Sam, and he knew she wasn't giving anything up anyway because that was kinda the whole reason Sam was picturing Beiste to cool off, but that was kind of what he thought it might feel like. That made sense, he guessed, the two of them were in the same category, but it didn't make the reasons any easier to put a finger on. Not without sounding like some fucking greeting card or something.   
  
Yeah, he loved the guy. Big deal. He didn't need to go around making that the excuse for every shitty feeling he got.  
  
Kurt had been so enthusiastic about the whole thing, and okay fine - the sex hadn't sucked. The little freak could be kind of hot when he wanted to be, but that almost made it worse; the only thing he and Kurt had going for them was intense sexual chemistry that anyone would be jealous of. If it turned out that Blaine wasn't nearly as bad at it as he'd been counting on, then his relationship was heading for the meatgrinder any second.  
  
He needed to put an end to this. Cut Kurt loose, let him go hang with the hobbit and let everyone just move on. It was only a matter of time anyway, right? At least this way he was still the badass instead of the lame dude who got dumped - and not just dumped, dumped by one of only a handful of people in the school with less social standing than Rachel Berry. Fucking seriously?  
  
Okay, not really true anymore, the guy's reputation skyrocketed just by being on Cheerios, but it didn't make him feel any better that he was being bested by a dude with absolutely no game and no clout.   
  
None of them were happy this way, that much was pretty obvious. Kurt was plastering a smile on and pretending everything was great, but even he didn't really believe it anymore - not unless he was a freaking moron and Puck knew better than that. His boy had a thing for pretending shit was cool when it wasn't, that's all this was. This 'three-way dating' bull had always been a stopgap, really, and now...  
  
If it was keeping Kurt happy, he might have considered sticking it out a little longer, but no one was winning in this. It was just making all three of them feel like shit - him especially. Which meant he knew what he had to do.  
  
He needed to end it.  
  
It would suck - it would suck  _hard_. He'd spend the next couple weeks feeling like shit and probably go back to his old coping mechanisms - y'know, terrorizing dweebs, petty crime, and sex under the influence with Santana and as many other chicks as he could. But in a way, it still...if he was gonna feel like shit either way, at least this way would make it end sooner rather than later, right? Yeah, his chest kinda burned as he thought about not seeing Kurt every day, but he'd...he'd adjusted to that once before, right? He could do that again. At least then Kurt would be happy. Better for one of them to not feel like crap instead of both of them kinda wanting to jump off the top of the school instead of keeping going at this trajectory.  
  
So he had to let Kurt go. He'd given up the fight at a certain point with Quinn, stopped chasing her, let her go - and she found Sam and was happier than she ever would've been with him. And he'd gotten over her; they could kinda be in the same room now without him feeling like she was punching him in the stomach. At some point he would hit that with Kurt, too.   
  
It was the responsible thing to do, breaking up with him. He wasn't gonna revert back to being a jerk and torturing him or anything, just...let him go on his way. It wasn't as if El Puckerone didn't have enough chicks to screw that he couldn't distract himself - Brittany was with Artie so Santana had almost no one to fuck these days, they could be drunk and desperate and horny together. It had worked for them before, always felt at least a little better. They'd even timed their surgeries over the summer so neither of them would be left hanging without an outlet for intense frustration and loneliness. They were kind of equal standing - both kind of the town's proud sluts who were always second choices because they weren't good in the out-of-bed sense. Not like Kurt.  
  
Kurt was amazing. Kurt deserved every stupid fucking romantic thing he wanted, and he was gonna get that from the guy who'd seen every cheesy, crappy 80s movie ever made.  
  
He saw a familiar neatly-arranged flop of brown hair down the hallway above a field of red polyester. He thought for a moment about waiting until later, but no; he should do it now. Rip the bandaid off. Get it over with before he could rationalize away all the reasons he shouldn't do this. Just do it before he could remind himself all the things he was going to miss about Kurt so he could selfishly hold onto him when it wasn't good for anyone involved.   
  
He started down the hallway towards Kurt, striding with confidence in his purpose. He was maybe 20 feet away when he saw Blaine stop Kurt and practically drag him into an empty science classroom. Was he fucking kidding? Couldn't even get five minutes alone to break up with the guy without prepster-boy butting in? Puck rolled his eyes and slumped back against the locker to wait.  
  
"What's going on?" Kurt asked as Blaine led him into the deserted room. "Not that I would ever complain about you wanting to see me, but this feels like something more than a casual conversation."  
  
"I wasn't sure what the rules were now," Blaine began. "I know we're supposed to not have side-dates and try to be as three-together as possible, but this is important and I didn't want to necessarily..."  
  
Kurt nodded solemnly and sat on the nearest table, crossing his legs purposefully. "Is everything okay?" he asked, concerned. Blaine seemed more nervous than usual - he was used to seeing the confident 'I'm a rockstar Warbler' face, or now at McKinley the 'I'm just a goofball so you know you want to hang out with me' face that had a surprising number of people actually treating him well - not like it should be a surprise that people liked Blaine, just after his own experiences...it had come as a bit of a shock was all. But that confidence was gone now; Blaine sounded hesitant, guarded, like he wasn't sure what landmines he was going to step on when he moved.  
  
"Kurt, I...you know that I love you, and I really,  _really_  like spending time with you - probably more than I do with any other person I've ever met, I mean you get all my references, we laugh at the same jokes, we like all the same things but not in a boring way. I feel like I can talk to you about anything."  
  
Kurt blinked at the admission. He wasn't surprised by the sentiment, he knew Blaine felt that way - and he felt the same. There was a little frisson of excitement at hearing that word out loud applied to him, but it wasn't nearly as big of a deal as he thought it might be. Mostly it just felt like a build-up to a really big let-down, and not just because of the implied 'we have to talk' vibe in the last sentence. It was like Blaine was taking an awful lot of words to say "I love you  _but..._ ," and Kurt had a sinking suspicion that the more words were used to get there, the bigger the issue was.  
  
He wasn't disappointed. "I don't think I can do this anymore," Blaine stated with a small shake of his head.   
  
Kurt froze. He realized he should have known in the back of his mind that if Blaine was having some big build-up/let-down 'we need to talk' conversation, that this must be a possibility - the likely outcome, actually, because they hadn't been together long enough to have a kind of 'we need to have a serious conversation about some really annoying habit' talk yet. Blaine wasn't declaring his love and how much he enjoyed spending time together so he could say "But you slide into the E at the end of 'Do Re Mi' and it drives me crazy" or even "But your knee-high Doc Marten boots have a good inch or so of heel on them and I already feel short enough, could you wear something else?" Anything with that much praise was going to have one helluva punch at the end of it, he just...  
  
He wasn't expecting it to be  _that_.  
  
"What do you mean?" It took a surprising amount of effort to keep his voice even. Not that surprising, actually. Blaine was- He was breaking up with him, that was the kind of thing a person was allowed to be upset by; it was expected, actually. And that was for a person who didn't cry very much, let alone for him. He just couldn't quite-...it felt surreal. Like Blaine couldn't possibly be saying-  
  
"Saturday was an unmitigated disaster, and I don't think trying it again is going to change any of that." Blaine sounded so rational, and almost calmer now than he had been at the beginning of the conversation. How was that fair? Why did he get to sound completely unmoved by this? He didn't get to say the things he said about how important Kurt was to him and then just walk away and sound like it didn't even matter.   
  
"So you're breaking up with me," Kurt concluded quietly, eyes narrowing in anger. How could Blaine not even care? Not even talk to him first? He'd agreed - they'd  _all_  agreed.  
  
"What? Oh - no," Blaine replied quickly. "No. That's not what I was trying to say. Let me back up and try again."  
  
Okay, now Kurt was just confused. "Then what were you trying to say?"  
  
Blaine drew in a deep breath, thought a moment, then asked, "Do you remember what I said when you told me your relationship with Puck was open?"  
  
"That he was an idiot," Kurt recalled evenly, staring nowhere in particular but definitely not at Blaine.  
  
"Exactly. Do you remember why?"  
  
"Because you said I deserved to be someone's first choice."  
  
"Yes," Blaine replied with a nod. "You did - you do. But so do I," he concluded with a kind of reluctant confidence, as though he was certain in what he was saying but still felt bad saying it. "I deserve to be the guy you want to be with all the time, not just when your other boyfriend's busy. I want to give you everything, Kurt, everything you could possibly want." His pleading was tempered by an almost dreamy smile that seemed to suggest he was envisioning a future, a beautiful future for the two of them that involved a lot of musicals and traveling the world and living in a fabulous loft. He dreamed big that way, not like most of the people Kurt knew. Not like Puck, whose dreams extended as far as someday being able to make a living cleaning pools and taking 9 months off and everything else was up in the air. Blaine was the kind of guy who imagined grand themed soirees and Oscar parties they could host together in a decade.  
  
But it wasn't that simple.  
  
"So what are you saying?" Kurt asked slowly, eyes narrowing as he tried to figure out where Blaine was going with this. Was he breaking up with him? Or was he telling him to break up with Puck so they could ride off into the sunset together?   
  
"I'm saying you have a decision to make." When Kurt's eyes widened, Blaine added, "I know you didn't want to have to choose between us, but you have to. I tried to hang in there as long as I could, but this isn't going to work...and I would be surprised if you didn't know that."  
  
He did know that. He had known it for more than a week now. He had just been trying desperately to keep it from coming to this.  
  
"I can't choose," he stated emphatically. How could he be expected to? How could  _anyone_  be expected to? It wasn't like asking him to choose between his short white Docs and his Converse hi-tops - a choice that could take him long enough depending on the outfit; there was a reason he planned his outfits for the week in advance if at all possible. If he chose wrong, first of all, he could chalk it up to an unfortunate pairing (those did happen from time to time) and learn for next time. If he really wanted to wear the other pair the next day, he could do that easily. Choosing one boy over another wasn't nearly so flexible. It wasn't a situation where he could keep one in reserve.  
  
That was kind of what he'd been doing to begin with, though, wasn't it? Having one date and a backup? He'd never meant it that way, he'd never intended for it to be like he was storing one boyfriend in his locker like clothes in case he got slushied mid-day. But that was how things had evolved - or, at least, how Blaine (and Puck, based on the way he was acting) felt. No matter how even he tried to make it, they each felt like second choice whenever he was with the other one, and putting all three of them into the same space, the same bed, the same relationship...  
  
Why couldn't he make it work? He had made any number of things work that shouldn't have - his father's diet, any number of fabulous ensembles, but for some reason this wasn't-  
  
Quinn had been right. He'd been trying desperately to tell himself that she wasn't, but he should have known.  
  
But how the fuck was he supposed to just- to  _pick one_?   
  
"Blaine, I wasn't kidding before, I can't even fathom being able to pick which one of you- I love you both. I've never lied about that."  
  
Blaine nodded. "I know. I'm sorry. Maybe it's not fair to ask you to choose, but it's not fair to either of us to keep up the ridiculous competition to try to win you over, and it's not fair to us to try to stay in a relationship with a guy we  _don't_  like so we can stay in a relationship with you. I don't like Puck and I'm pretty sure he likes me even less."  
  
"He doesn't-" Kurt started to say, and when Blaine looked at him like he was crazy, Kurt corrected, "Okay, maybe he does. But even so, that doesn't make any of this easier."  
  
"I wanted to be strong enough to walk away," Blaine said quietly, and his admission made Kurt's heart clench at the thought of Blaine walking out. "I wanted to be able to- I hate the phrase 'man up' but it seems most appropriate here - and tell you that I was bowing out to save you from having to make a choice I know has to be difficult, but I couldn't." A sad, shy smile played on his lips as he added, "Call it selfish of me, Kurt, but I want to be with you too much. I want to be with you, I want to be your boyfriend. Your only boyfriend. So I hope you can-" he drew in a deep breath before finishing, "-find it in your heart to choose me even though I am the one forcing you into an impossible position."  
  
"Blaine-" The name caught in his throat as it tightened. He couldn't cry in the uniform, it was like a physical impossibility. He wasn't sure whether to be happy about that or not.  
  
It was a good thing, he concluded dully. Otherwise he would be teary-eyed the entire rest of the day, and if there was one thing he had learned over the course of his ten years in public school, there was little that made a person a better target than seeming like a pathetic lost puppy. Tears only brought the bullies greater joy (and probably more target points).   
  
Blaine stepped close and touched his arm. "I really am sorry for putting you in this position, Kurt. But I don't think it does either of us any good to stay miserable - do you?"  
  
"No," he admitted quietly.  
  
Blaine nodded and smiled sadly, then left the room.  
  
This couldn't be happening.  
  
Puck's head jerked up as he heard the classroom door close. He saw Blaine walking down the hall in the opposite direction; after another minute or so, Kurt emerged wearing what Puck had kind of privately dubbed the 'I'm too fabulous to let you know how I feel' face - the thinnest possible layer of ice queen on top of a quivering mass of this-close-to-crying. "What's wrong?" he asked immediately, falling into step alongside the Cheerio.   
  
"Nothing," Kurt replied, shaking his head.  
  
"Bullshit."  
  
"Not now, okay?" He reached out to grab Puck's forearm and looked up at him. "Please, just...not now."  
  
Puck nodded. He couldn't exactly cut the guy loose when he looked this much like shit - he kind of wanted to just drag him out to the car and make out with him until their lips were raw and Kurt looked all bleary and not so upset, even if he guessed that was against the rules now or whatever-the-fuck. "Okay," he shrugged and kept walking; that Kurt's arm stayed on his arm didn't go unnoticed.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"You're exaggerating," Mercedes declared, not even looking up from her chemistry notebook.  
  
"I swear, Mercedes, he was this close to saying 'Pick me, choose me, love me,'" Kurt declared dramatically as he smoothed the iron over his red Cheerios pants. With an assembly tomorrow there wasn't time to send them out for proper drycleaning - even Sue's overnight rush wouldn't take care of it - so he had to do the best he could on his own. "When did this become my life? And how the hell am I  _McDreamy_  in all of this? I'm not McDreamy. I'm not Mc- _anything_. I'm George, okay? I'm not the hot neurosurgeon, I'm... I'm George, only without the bus and with significantly less inappropriate sex with my housemates."  
  
"Last year you would've jumped at the chance for that, too," Mercedes pointed out with a fond, teasing grin, and he glared. "Is this subscript a 3?" she asked, leaning across the coffee table to where Quinn sat with her calculus book.  
  
Quinn glanced at the notes. "I think so. It's your handwriting," she pointed out. "But it should be - CH3COCH3." Mercedes nodded and went back to writing.  
  
"So I ask again - how in all of this am I McDreamy?"  
  
"I think the real question is how Puck is Addison," Quinn offered with a faint smile. "Though Santana as the resident Mark does work surprisingly well."  
  
"Who's Lexie then?" Mercedes asked.  
  
"Brittany?" Quinn suggested, and Mercedes shook her head. "I don't know. They do have a bigger staff than we have of glee club, and over a longer period of time."  
  
"It is season seven now," Mercedes mused solemnly.  
  
"Can you two focus?" Kurt demanded.  
  
"Hey, you went there first," Mercedes shot back.  
  
"Not for the purposes of prolonged conversation," he replied, sitting in the swinging cage chair as he began to vigorously polish his two-tone shoes. "So what do I do now?" There was silence. Sure -  _now_  they didn't have any commentary. Some help that was. "...I'm serious," he added, looking at them.  
  
"I...don't know what you want us to say," Quinn said gently. "You know as well as we do that if you want us to just pick a side, you'll be left with a tie anyway. Besides, I don't think it can work like that, asking your friends to pick one for you?"  
  
"Sure it can," Mercedes replied. "Blaine is sweet and charming and actually bothers to  _say_  he loves you instead of it being some kind of thing you just guess from knowing them. He's into all the same music you're into, he likes all the same movies, the boy can play every instrument he's ever seen and he sings Gaga better than Gaga sings Gaga."  
  
"It's not just about that," Quinn replied. "It can't just be about common interests - if it was, Sam and I would never have gone out and certainly wouldn't be together now."  
  
Kurt knew they kept arguing - okay, that was too strong of a word, but the concept was right - but it kind of blurred out for him. He found himself picturing the two of them sitting on his shoulders in costume, like the angel and devil in a cartoon. In  _his_  mind, of course, the costumes were far less traditional and cliche - Mercedes' angel was more like a combination of the layercake dress that went with Gaga's birdswept hair look, and what he imagined Swan Lake would look like if Alexander McQueen had done the costuming for it. Quinn's- calling her a devil seemed sacrilegious, but if she was advocating for Puck then surely that didn't make the angel role most appropriate - devil look employed the Phillip Treacey lace-and-horn hat, Natalie Portman's makeup from Black Swan, and a sweeping black leather cloak.   
  
That was essentially what this was, wasn't it? The id wanting Puck, the superego wanting Blaine? But it wasn't that simple - there was more to Puck than that, he knew it, it just wasn't something he could put his finger on. It was no wonder Quinn kept saying 'that's not it' but not being quite able to define what made Puck the better choice.  
  
If it was easy, he would have chosen already.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Blaine wasn't a big Skype fan generally - he preferred to do crazy things like drive two hours to actually see someone, and he was never more than five feet from his phone for plenty of texting, but something about sitting on your bed with a webcam felt a little too porny for him. Or maybe that had just been thanks to a few too many awkward encounters the one and only time he'd tried ChatRoulette.  
  
But as he checked his email and a notification that Charlie was online popped up, he felt a kind of surge of relief. He needed to talk to someone who might have some idea what to do next, and there was so much more a person could tell by watching Charlie than by just hearing his voice or reading his often-longwinded texts. He was one of those people with incredibly expressive facial responses and had the added benefit of being a gay guy who knew Kurt and could weigh in constructively.  
  
Maybe. Some of Charlie's ideas were better than others.  
  
He sent a quick message to check that now was a good time (it was) and connected, then promptly burst out laughing as Charlie's face appeared on the screen, covered in some kind of purple goop. "Well, hello to you, too," Charlie replied dryly. In one hand he held a diet soda with a straw, which he occasionally brought in for a delicate sip so as to not smudge his...whatever the hell that was on his face.  
  
"I asked if it was a good time, you didn't mention that you'd been attacked by Grimace," Blaine replied.  
  
"It's a homemade face mask, I have to wait for it to work anyway. I have time."  
  
The image of Charlie sitting there like it was completely normal to have a conversation this way, while kind of bizarre and definitely laugh-worthy, did have one advantage: it took any feeling like he was doing something vaguely weird and webcam-striptease-ish away completely. Besides, he needed Charlie at his least-guarded if he wanted to get the most honest reaction and advice he could, right? "It's about the whole Kurt...thing," he offered.  
  
"Mmhmm," Charlie replied with a thoughtful nod.  
  
"I told him I couldn't do this anymore."  
  
"The three-way dating?" Charlie asked, sounding disappointed. Blaine had filled him in on that part the previous Wednesday when he needed someone to rant to about what a dipshit his boyfriend's other boyfriend was.   
  
"Among other things," Blaine mumbled with a roll of his eyes, and Charlie's eyes lit up behind the mask. "I'm not giving details, don't even ask."   
  
"C'mon, please?" Charlie pouted. "I've been single for the last, like, year and a half - you can't at least give me a detailed account of the unfairness of the universe so I can live vicariously through you? Instead you just tease me with the fact that you slept with two hot boys and don't even give me anything useful? I thought we were friends, here, Blaine."  
  
"It wasn't nearly as good as you're thinking, if that helps," Blaine offered with a faint smile. "Not physically bad, just...not something that should ever be repeated." Charlie looked severely disappointed, like his faith in humanity had waned a little from the sole fact that sex with the badass wasn't worth talking about. "So I told Kurt today it wasn't going to work."  
  
"You broke up with him?" Charlie squeaked. "Are you crazy? He's beautiful and he fawns all over you."  
  
"I didn't break up with him."  
  
"Good," Charlie replied, hand over his heart in relief.   
  
"I told him he had to choose." Charlie stared at him, a perfected deadpan look that said all Blaine needed to hear. "I know - believe me."  
  
"You told him to pick between you and the guy he's been dating since before you even met him? The guy who probably owns more leather jackets than you own cheap cardigans?"  
  
"At least it's all on the table," Blaine replied. "And either way - whether I win or lose - it's better than what's going on right now. Trust me, two guys at once is highly overrated."  
  
"I'd like to test that one for myself, thank you," Charlie replied. He paused, glancing upwards in thought, then concluded, "So we need a campaign to make sure he chooses you."  
  
"You do know that even if he breaks up with Puck for me, Puck's not going to start dating you, right?" Blaine checked, and Charlie rolled his eyes. "...What kind of campaign? Because we've already sort of done this competition thing back and forth, and it just made things worse."  
  
"Nothing big, just a small gesture. Something to make sure he knows you're not trying to get him to ditch you first - something to make sure he knows you're all-in," Charlie stated.  
  
That might be a good idea, Blaine nodded. Kurt had seemed sure at first he was being dumped, which wasn't the case at all. He needed to make sure Kurt knew that it was about wanting a future with just the two of them together - and god did he want that. He wanted that more than he could express.  
  
Unless...  
  
He grinned. "I have the perfect idea."


	2. Chapter 2

When Kurt didn't look any less icy Tuesday morning, Puck knew it wasn't a good sign. Since he'd gone to Dalton the first time, the cold, sarcastic exterior had started melting away pretty quickly; he would've taken credit for it, but the mask had started going down around him even before that. But in terms of Kurt looking secure and confident and happy without seeming like he was only deigning to speak to the peasants (read: his fellow students) because he was given no alternative, it was really a product of transferring out. Now that he was back, he was more uptight but not nearly as stoic as he walked down the halls.  
  
Except today.  
  
He fell into step beside Kurt, who seemed to be giving his best 'I'm going to walk faster than you and see how long it takes you to notice I don't want to talk to you' strut. Puck's legs were longer and he was used to running more often; he stayed in step easily. "What's going on?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Bullshit. You haven't looked like this in months."  
  
"And how is 'this', exactly?" he asked defensively.  
  
"Like everyone in the world can go fuck off."  
  
"Yes," Kurt replied coldly with an eyebrow raise that seemed to say 'including you.'  
  
Puck didn't take the bait. "Seriously. Did someone say something? Karofsky's not back, right?" Because if Kurt was staying that bitchy around  _him_ , and he hadn't fucking  _done_  anything, it had to be big...right? He thought so, at least. He hadn't actually broken up with the guy, even if he still thought he should, and Kurt wasn't crying enough for Blaine to have broken up with him, so it had to be something to do with one of the assholes being...well, an asshole. More of an asshole than usual. Whatever.  
  
"No. As much as I say this week couldn't be shaping up to be any more frustrating, I suppose I should take into account that I've accumulated enough status at this school now that something could happen to topple that, which would lead to a much worse week." When Puck just stared at him but kept walking, Kurt sighed and stopped, turning to face him. "Blaine's making me choose."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I have to pick one of you."  
  
Though he would deny it later, his first thought was 'Does the hobbit have to freaking beat me to the punch every damn time? I can't even break up with him without the guy swooping in to steal my thunder!'  
  
His second thought was a little more confused. What did this mean? For him, mostly, but also for Kurt. Part of Kurt's whole thing was not wanting to have to pick between the two of them - hence the stupid fucking idea that had led to the most awkward sex of his life. Because really, when you're both fighting over the same guy and didn't like each other to begin with, the right thing to say is "Sure, let's all three date so you can fight the urge to kill each other every minute of every day, it'll be great!" He only came up with the ridiculous idea because he said he couldn't pick, and even though Puck was pretty sure he knew which one Kurt would really  _want_  to choose if forced, the point was that Kurt wanted to avoid all that.  
  
Did that put him in a better position, like because Blaine was the guy who shoved him into choosing it made Puck the better guy who cared more about what Kurt wanted? Or did it make him the second fiddle because once fucking again Blaine beat him to the punch on something important?  
  
What did that do to his plan from yesterday? Kurt would still be better off with Blaine than with him, he was pretty sure. But if Kurt had to choose - and knew he had to choose - did it make any sense to break up with him preemptively and make the guy miserable when the outcome would be the same anyway? Shouldn't he just let Kurt break up with him instead? Or was it better if he made Kurt angry with him so he could hate him instead of feeling torn and sad?  
  
He had no fucking idea.  
  
"I have to go - Sue wants us there early for the assembly," Kurt said quietly when Puck didn't respond.  
  
"It's in like four periods."  
  
"Like I said - early." He drew in a deep breath, mask shifting back up, fortifying, until hard blue-green eyes stared out at the world from behind fine lashes, then strode down the hall as if nothing was wrong.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The pep rally was going well.  
  
He supposed it wasn't technically a pep rally since those were specifically for sports teams, and they weren't far enough into basketball season to have one yet. There would be another one in a month or so for the wrestling team when they went to...whatever championship they went to. But for now, it was just a Cheerios showcase because Sue wanted to. Not exactly unusual, but technically not a pep rally.  
  
While Beyonce was more suited to Mercedes' voice than to his own, he did have to approve of the song selection, if only because he was still sick of Katy Perry after the "California Gurls" performance. And channeling a little Sasha Fierce was always something Sue would approve of. He didn't search the crowd like he usually did - didn't want to look at or find or think about either of the boys he was meant to be picking. Besides, if he stared too long at one the other would want to start a beatdown (especially if the other was Puck) and he didn't have the energy to deal with that. Not if he was going to pour everything he had into performing. It was a more challenging dance than usual - Kurt suspected it was because he complained about the lack of a second vocalist for him to sing with - and required quite a bit of focus.  
  
 _You can be a sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare  
Either way I don't wanna wake up from you  
Either way I don't wanna wake up from you._  
  
An echo of "Turn the lights on!" from a handful of the Cheerios as they hit their final pose, then the thundering of applause that never failed to leave him breathless. Who needed swaying in the background with glee club and the minor rush of adrenaline from performing in front of the auditorium at Sectionals when he could have  _this_  instead? The almost crushing wave of adrenaline washing over him as his plastered-on smile turned real and grew into a nearly-giddy grin, the struggle to catch his breath that left him dizzy with the sound of people cheering echoing in his ears along with the pulsing sound of his own blood pumping.  
  
 _Oh ye-eah!_  
  
His head jerked sideways. He swore he heard Blaine's voice [singing](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4aAg_ll28FE) over the sound system, but there was no- That wouldn't make any sense. But from the way everyone else was looking around in confusion, they had heard something, too.   
  
Then he heard the unmistakable sound of an acappella beatboxer.  
  
No. Oh no. He was imagining this. It wasn't actually going on, was it? Because there was no way Blaine would be crazy enough to-  
  
He heard a scuffle of surprise and saw Jacob ben Israel scrambling to dig out his camera phone. Looking in the direction everyone else appeared to be staring, he saw-  
  
...Oh yes. Yes, he was that crazy.  
  
He saw Blaine draw in a slow breath, like he was calming his nerves as he half-danced into the gymnasium, singing another "Oh ye-ah" as he moved away from the door. He wore a red button-down shirt with jeans of an appropriate dark navy wash that vaguely looked like the combination on the Dalton jacket Kurt had been plenty glad to not wear anymore. A white belt (really, Blaine?) and a grey tie (With jeans - again, really?) were added, because apparently he really felt the need to channel the old Warblers attire.  
  
And that made sense, didn't it, since the Warblers were there to sing backup.  
  
At a first glance, Kurt wasn't sure if it was everyone, but it certainly looked that way, bopping and swaying and snapping as they entered through all four doors of the gymnasium. They were all mic'ed - some facial mics, some lavs, a few (mostly bases and percussives) with handhelds; he didn't even want to know how they'd gotten all of it set up because he could guarantee - flat out  _guarantee_  that Sue hadn't approved this. Sue didn't approve  _anything_  that meant her Cheerios didn't get center stage, and a Warbler Flash Mob wasn't exactly going to be something she approved of.  
  
 _So scared of breaking it that you won't let it bend  
And I wrote two hundred letters I will never send  
Sometimes these cuts are so much deeper than they seem  
You'd rather cover up, I'd rather let them be_  
  
Just in case Sue might not have known exactly who this singing was for, Blaine was making it incredibly clear as he sang at Kurt; "to Kurt" implied that the person being sung to was in on it and enjoying it, which Kurt most certainly was not.  
  
He was a dead man.  
  
Sue was going to kill him. Then she was going to skin him and use his porcelain remains to make a tracksuit before turning his head into a decorative bowl to hold protein gels.   
  
 _So let me be and I'll set you free, oh yeah_  
  
He looked around frantically, hoping that someone would put a stop to this, that Blaine would get the hint that - as much as he loved watching Blaine sing - this was  _not_  something he was okay with. But Blaine kept singing, full-on show face, dancing joyously in the geeky and uncoordinated way that only he could, hands gesturing to make his points on key lyrics.  
  
 _I am in misery  
There ain't nobody who can comfort me, oh yeah  
Why won't you answer me?  
The silence is slowly killing me, oh yeah_  
  
Misery? Oh, this was misery all right. As he watched his boyfriend dance his way through the crowded gym at a school where he finally -  _finally_ , after a decade - had enough social standing to walk through the halls unscathed, thanks to one thing and one thing only: his status as a Cheerio. That status was going to be revoked in the next three minutes if it hadn't been as soon as the first note echoed through the speakers.  
  
 _Girl, you really got me bad, you really got me bad  
And I'm gonna get you back, I'm gonna get you back_  
  
The Warblers danced their way through the Cheerios, in and around the girls in skirts and Kurt could practically see Ethan trying to get numbers with every "doo-doo-doo" he sang. Brittany danced along, but the rest of them were too well-trained and much too afraid of Sue's wrath to do any more than stand and stare.   
  
Except Santana, who smirked more than any person had a right to smirk in a situation like this.  
  
Undeterred, Blaine jumped up onto the lower bar of the handrail that led up the aisle to the top of the bleachers, balancing surprisingly well as he moved up a few feet before hopping off and starting to serenade other students. They were surprisingly into it, clapping and swaying - mostly the girls, but some of the guys, too.   
  
 _Your salty skin and how it mixes it with mine  
The way it feels to be completely intertwined_  
  
That settled it - he was going to die of embarrassment long before Sue got a hold of him. Even Rachel was staring at him now, like she was waiting for him to react or do  _something_ , but all he could do was stand there frozen in place, a horrified expression on his face while he tried to either sink into the floor or look like he had nothing to do with any of this.  
  
 _It's not that I care, it that's I didn't know  
It's not what I didn't feel, it's what I didn't show  
So let me be and I'll set you free_  
  
Puck had to admit - when he saw the guy come in with an entire freaking group to back him up on a song, he thought he was done for. Kurt totally dug guys singing to him; he knew, he'd used it to his advantage once or twice. He was into all the acappella stuff, too, and missed all the gay dudes from his old school. If Blaine pulled out all the stops like that, it was gonna make the choice super easy for Kurt and totally eliminate the need to even ask whether he should pull a preemptive break-up or not because he'd be dumped by sixth period.  
  
Rolling his eyes like he didn't care - 'cause he didn't, not as far as anyone else in that room was concerned - he looked over to see if he should even bother confirming the breakup with Kurt when the performance was over. Depending on just how adoring Kurt's expression was, there was a chance neither one of them would have to say a word and just let it end like that.   
  
He was surprised to see how tight Kurt's face was. And bright freaking red, too, like worse than when he was bawling - flushed with embarrassment and anger that matched his eyes. He stood straight, stiff, staring at a spot above the basketball net.  
  
Puck knew that look.  
  
He'd tried to get Kurt to sit through a basketball game once; that was his "Get me the fuck out of here" look.  
  
He had to give the fraggle points - he had balls. It took cojones to get up and sing in front of the entire school, especially when you didn't have the rep to pull off damn near anything the way he did. But messing with something Coach Sylvester was in charge of? That took a freaking death wish or something.  
  
And Kurt wasn't into it.  
  
He kept expecting Blaine to see the look and stop, kinda put an end to the impromptu performance and run off to hide in South Africa or Bosnia or somewhere. But the dude just kept singing and dancing, and if he weren't gay he would so have like fifty girls trying to date him after this.  
  
...But not Kurt.  
  
Not the guy all this was to try to impress and win over.  
  
 _Man_  had Blaine blown it. Like, badly to the point where - if the loser wasn't trying to steal his boyfriend again? He would have actually felt  _bad_  for the guy. With a look like that, Kurt wasn't even going to speak to him after this.  
  
Maybe this wasn't over after all.  
  
 _I am in misery  
There ain't nobody who can comfort me, oh yeah  
Why won't you answer me?  
The silence is slowly killing me, oh yeah  
Girl, you really got me bad, you really got me bad  
And I'm gonna get you back, gonna get you back, yeah_  
  
Blaine danced his way down the stairs like Fred Astair - or maybe more like Ginger Rogers - and did a little trademark spin as he made his way over to Kurt, singing directly to him now and very close.  
  
 _You say your faith is shaken  
And you may be mistaken_  
  
Kurt was pleading with him with his eyes now - please don't do this, please don't ruin the only thing I have that's keeping me safe at this school. But Blaine was undeterred, grinning and expressive in the way he only got when he sang, like he'd come alive or been lit on fire or something.   
  
 _You keep me wide awake and waiting for the sun  
I'm desperate and confused, so far away from you  
I'm getting there, I don't care where I have to run_  
  
The purposeful hand gestures on each word were back as the Warblers formed a circle around the still-perplexed Cheerios and started skipping - dear god,  _skipping_? - around them as Blaine sang pleadingly, hands making almost a praying motion in front of his chest, knees bent for...emphasis, Kurt supposed was the best way he could put it.  
  
 _Why do you do what you do to me?  
Why won't you answer me, answer me yeah?  
Why do you do what you do to me?  
Why won't you answer me, answer me yeah?_  
  
"Dude, why's Kurt look like he wants to kill Blaine?" Finn leaned over and whispered.  
  
Puck shot him a 'seriously, dude?' look and replied "Would  _you_  wanna deal with Beiste if Rachel pulled some crazy show number out in the middle of a game?"  
  
Rachel would even know better than to do this. Blaine didn't? Blaine couldn't figure out that it was a bad idea? The guy who supposedly knew Kurt better than anyone else, even Puck -  _especially_  Puck, depending on how annoyed Kurt was at him on a given day? The guy who couldn't figure out that forcing Kurt to choose a boyfriend was just gonna piss him off and make him feel like shit and tear him up?  
  
Blaine didn't know Kurt at  _all_. Not if he couldn't figure out this kind of basic shit that he would've known by, like, week two.   
  
He couldn't just break up with Kurt and send him into the arms of a guy who didn't even know not to mess with the one thing keeping him safe at school. If he thought his own Karofsky fuck-up had put Kurt in danger? Did Blaine even get how bad McKinley had been for Kurt the first time around? Probably not, right? Because the guy had been at the school for less than a week before Kurt rejoined the squad so he'd only gotten a couple slushies in the face. He didn't get what would happen if Kurt was back off the squad - especially if he still wasn't in glee club so he didn't even have those guys looking out for him. And if Kurt was with Blaine instead of with  _him_ , so that fear of his wrath wasn't keeping bullies off Kurt's back?  
  
No fucking way.  
  
 _I am in misery  
There ain't nobody who can comfort me, oh yeah  
Why won't you answer me?  
The silence is slowly killing me, oh yeah  
Girl, you really got me bad, you really got me bad  
And I'm gonna get you back, gonna get you back!_  
  
The cheer that went up as the Warblers finished was surprisingly enthusiastic - and higher-pitched than Blaine had expected. Amid the shoulder-cuffing and congratulatory backslaps from his former groupmates, he turned to shoot Kurt a winning grin. "Whatcha think?"  
  
Why did he look so murderous? "I can't even talk to you right now."  
  
Blaine's smile faded quickly, face falling. "Kurt-"  
  
Kurt started to walk away, and Blaine caught his arm gently. "Do you have any idea what you did? Ms. Sylvester has kicked people off the squad for an untied shoelace, I guarantee-"  
  
"Jonas!" Sue's voice was quiet but cut easily through the sound of the students chattering as they left the gym. When Blaine looked confused, Kurt nodded as if to say 'she means you,' and he turned to face her. "My office. Five minutes."  
  
"Ms. Sylvester," Kurt began, "I assure you I had no idea he was planning to-"  
  
"Get to class, Porcelain." She turned and strode out, snatching Jacob's phone out of his hand as she passed.  
  
The lack of additional snarky comment was making Kurt even more nervous. "I've gotta go," he told Blaine quietly.  
  
"Kurt, I'm sorry - I thought-...You like grand gestures and theatrical performances, I thought you'd like this. I really did. I'll talk to her, make sure she knows you weren't in on it-"  
  
Kurt held up his hand to silence Blaine. "I know. But I can't right now, okay?" he said quietly, his voice tight. "Go talk to her, she doesn't like to be kept waiting."  
  
He started for the door, avoiding Mercedes and Rachel and the way they were practically screeching with "oh my god did you see that?" - because there was the possibility he had managed to miss 20-some boys in uniforms singing and dancing around him.   
  
He wanted to be furious or completely forgiving but couldn't really be either. Yes, Blaine had meant well, and it had been kind of a sweet gesture, but at the same time the fallout was going to be too great, the price far too high...he needed to not have the conversation until he could put words in order.  
  
He was having that problem a lot lately.   
  
* * * * *  
  
The ticking of the clock in Principal Sue's office echoed loudly in the tense silence. Blaine sat stiffly in one of the two chairs facing her desk, feet planted firmly on the floor, and fought the urge to tap his fingers on the armrest. It was a nervous reflex he hadn't indulged since he was a freshman in his first high school - there wasn't much reason to be nervous at Dalton, after all, and it was more important to be pulled-together and appear confident than to do almost anything else well.   
  
Sue wasn't saying anything.  
  
She was an intimidating woman under the best of circumstances, and Blaine had the disadvantage of having only met her twice - once when registering and once when they were reporting Karofsky's attempt on Kurt's life. But he had heard stories; the urban legends around McKinley seemed to all focus on the Cheerio coach-cum-Principal, and after speaking with people who actually knew her, even the most ridiculous stories seemed vaguely plausible. He didn't know her well enough to read her subtle changes in facial expression or posture, but he knew enough to expect the unexpected.  
  
She stared at him, reading glasses dangling from her fingertips. The seconds seemed neverending, and he wondered vaguely if she had the power to expel him for causing a disruption. He wasn't sure what would come of him then - or of Kurt. At the very least, she couldn't reasonably do anything to Kurt; he would make sure she knew it wasn't her Cheerios' fault. After all, the Cheerios hadn't known anything about any of this. He'd gotten Lauren to help him with the microphones, Mercedes had helped get them in at the right time - texting to let him know when the time was right, when the Cheerios' number was ending. No one on the squad had anything to do with it.  
  
Should he say that? Should he lead with that information, make very clear that neither Kurt nor any of the other Cheerios (including Quinn and Brittany, whom he liked okay he supposed, and Santana whom he liked not at all but didn't feel like screwing with if he didn't have to) had any role in what he'd done? Or should he let her speak first and respond only when asked a direct question?  
  
Should he have a lawyer present? He hadn't broken any laws, but you never could be sure with this kind of thing.  
  
Sue glanced at Blaine, then at her clock, then back at Blaine. Times like this she was glad for her investment of purchasing a clock with a deliberately loud ticking sound exactly every 2 seconds. It drew out the tension that way, making time seem that much slower and more dramatic, and it had the added benefit of making it appear as though she were moving at near-warp speed.  
  
"So you sing," she said dryly, tossing her glasses onto the desk where they landed with a soft thump on a notebook. Peering carefully, Blaine could see what looked like the word INSANITY in bold block letters. When she stared at him more intensely, he jerked his gaze up but avoided looking her in the eye.  
  
She wasn't the Phantom of the Opera or Medusa or anything, but she was definitely the Alpha Male and he wasn't going to give the impression he was trying to challenge that in any way.  
  
"Yes," he replied. "Before you say anything else, I want to make very clear that Kurt had  _nothing_  to do with this. Neither did anyone else on the squad. They didn't even know about it, I planned it without-"  
  
"I'm gonna stop you right there," she stated in a calm tone that gave Blaine no indication where this might be going. "I don't appreciate disruptions. I was once nearly crushed to death during a concert when the fans of the pornographic band decided to show their appreciation by throwing macaroni towards the stage; I was so blinded by the fog of artificial cheese that I couldn't see the attempted crowd-surfing start. I was lucky to only lose three vertebrae in the process. Now - I've already had your backup singers ejected from campus under the 1923 state anti-mob ordinance that prohibits the gathering of more than six gentlemen wearing neckties for any purpose other than weddings and funerals, if they come within a hundred yards of this building, they'll be arrested." She interlaced her fingers on top of her knee and stared at him intently.   
  
"I understand," Blaine replied nervously. It seemed like the right thing to say, even if he followed only half of it.  
  
"You know, guy-from-Entourage-whose-name-no-one-knows, as a performer? You don't suck." Blaine supposed that was meant to be high praise. "Sure, some may say the one-footed spins look like a a puppy trying to chase its own tail only to get confused halfway through and start licking itself instead. And you need a pair of platform boots to be seen over even the shortest girl on the squad. But you have something."  
  
He blinked. "Thank you?"  
  
"Porcelain's been on me for weeks about getting another singer, but I can't send Q up there. A boy and a girl singing duets, the audience will spend the entire time wondering if they're a couple - then take one look at Power Bottom over there and wonder how in the world the girl he's singing with doesn't know he's a sequined cape away from playing Chopin with a candelabra while middle-aged women cry. Besides, it's hard to sing from the top of the pyramid. But you...you'll do nicely."  
  
Wait - did that mean he was on the squad? Was she seriously asking him to join the resident rock stars based on a performance Kurt thought was going to get him kicked off the squad? "I- Thank you. This is fantastic. I appreciate your vote of confidence-"  
  
"Now." Sue reached into her desk drawer and pulled out an electric clipper. "There's the issue of your hair. I can't trust a man with curls, Jonas. It's a loyalty thing - if it were measured by hair product alone, and it is, you'd be a shoe-in to stick by Will Schuester, and I can't have that on my squad. So I'm sorry but the hair has to go."  
  
Blaine's eyes widened. "I'll slick it down," he promised, smoothing his hands over his curls as though to demonstrate. "I had to when I went to Dalton anyway, you'll never know it curls."  
  
"Good." She pressed the intercom. "Becky, get in here."  
  
She appeared a moment later in the doorway. "Yes, Coach?"  
  
"Get Orlando Bloom here a uniform."  
  
"Got it, Coach."  
  
"Oh, and Becky? Go ask Will Schuester where he buys his economy-sized bottles of hair gel. Jonas is gonna need it."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Kurt wasn't sure what to make of Blaine's text that everything would be fine. But when he didn't get a call to see Ms. Sylvester, didn't receive any notice of his removal from the squad, and didn't have a horde of JV Cheerios come rip his uniform physically off him between classes, he took that as a sign that - at least for the moment - he was simply put on super-strict probation.  
  
He hoped, at least. Puck seemed to be keeping an extra close eye on him either way, which was both reassuring and frustrating in light of the choice he had to make.  
  
As he walked into school on Wednesday morning, clutching the strap of his bag and carefully adjusting his hat, he noticed an awful lot of people staring at him. His outfit was no more 'out there' than usual, and besides - at this point, he would be stared at more for wearing jeans and a tshirt or something, wouldn't he? He was tempted to find Mercedes; she would know what was going on. She always knew the latest gossip, though he wasn't quite sure how. He was kind of surprised there wasn't a message from her alerting him that people would be staring.  
  
As he descended the stairs to walk towards his locker, he saw three girls wearing a two-inch long strip of red ribbon on their shirts, diagonally where a lapel would be. When he stared after them, they didn't notice. He turned forward and saw a guy - a freshman he didn't really know - wearing the same piece of ribbon; the guy gave him a grin and a thumbs up, then continued up the stairs past Kurt.  
  
If the ribbons had been folded, it would have been for AIDS awareness, or at least blood cancers and illnesses, but they weren't - they were just pieces, attached with safety pins. Besides, World AIDS Day was in December and this was February, and he could about guarantee that fewer than five people in the school would know that red ribbons were for that kind of awareness anyway.  
  
So what the hell was this? And why was the guy giving him a thumbs up about it?  
  
He turned the corner and got his answer. A posterboard on the wall with similar red ribbons taped around the edges in a kind of uneven border with its message in bright red sharpie block letters:  
  
 **Team Blaine**.  
  
...Oh dear god.


	3. Chapter 3

He was going to  _kill_  him.  
  
The assembly had been bad enough, but Kurt was maybe -  _maybe_  - prepared to believe that Blaine really hadn't known it wouldn't be a good idea. He could believe, based on everything Blaine had done for him since they met, that his boyfriend really did think that crashing the pep rally would be sweet, a grand gesture to show how much he wanted them to be together. He could believe that Blaine just hadn't realized how much risk was involved.  
  
But this? This was a whole new level of ridiculous that ventured into jackass territory.  
  
A campaign? A public campaign to get the school to pressure him to choose? After he had explicitly said several times that the choice was something he was dreading? Was Blaine out of his fucking mind?  
  
Did Blaine even know him at  _all_?  
  
Maybe he was being too harsh, he realized as he tore his gaze away from the "Team Blaine" poster and stalked down the hall to try to find the boy for whom a portion of the school seemed to be rooting. After all, Blaine did know him better than that. At the absolute least, Blaine would have known better than to start this campaign after Kurt had made clear that the serenade was not a welcome surprise. The posters hadn't been up yesterday when Kurt had left school; if Blaine were behind it, that would have meant putting them up after he'd already made his feelings clear and Blaine wouldn't do that.  
  
He didn't think so, at least.  
  
He found Blaine standing by the choir room, staring at a poster on the wall. "Please tell me you didn't do this."  
  
Blaine turned suddenly at the sound of Kurt's voice, and Kurt was surprised to see the dark curls slicked into submission. It was odd, seeing that hair without the navy blazer, let alone seeing that hair in this hallway. "What?"  
  
"The posters, the ribbons - I just need to hear you say it wasn't you."  
  
"It wasn't," Blaine said slowly. "Wait. How much of a death wish did you think I had? You thought I would-"  
  
"No," Kurt replied quickly, and seeing Blaine's skeptical, almost hurt look he added, "Not really. I don't know, I thought maybe after yesterday - but I didn't genuinely think it was you. I just needed you to metaphorically slap me upside the head and remind me of that." His plaintive expression seemed to mollify Blaine, and he asked, "What's with the hair?"  
  
"Hm?" Blaine started to reach to run his fingers through it, then remembered and pulled his hand away from his unmovable hair with a sheepish smile. "Right. Coach Sylvester insisted. Something about showing I wasn't loyal to Mr. Schuester over her? All I know is that it was either this or she was going to shave it off - did you know she kept a pair of electric clippers in her desk drawer?"  
  
Kurt blinked. "I didn't, but that wouldn't be the strangest thing. What do you mean,  _Coach_  Sylvester needed you to prove your loyalty?"  
  
"Actually, that's what I wanted to tell you yesterday." Blaine drew in a deep breath and said with a grin that seemed equal parts proud and nervous, "I'm the newest Cheerio."  
  
Kurt's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"  
  
"She said you'd been asking for someone to duet with, and then there was a Liberace joke that was vaguely offensive but I think was probably tame for her, and then she was having Becky get me a uniform. I'm on the squad."  
  
In a way it was fantastic, Kurt knew that. For one thing, he knew that he and Blaine sounded amazing together. He loved when they sang together - the kind of natural flirtiness was entirely accidental but had a way of making him feel like the luckiest guy in the room to be fawned over by Blaine the Rockstar. And Blaine had such an incredible stage presence that would make him a definite star in the Cheerios.  
  
For another, it helped with one of Kurt's big concerns with choosing: if he picked Puck, what would happen to Blaine? He could try to ignore the question as much as he wanted, to pretend he didn't have to make the choice - not yet, it could wait until tomorrow. Or the weekend. Or next week. Or never. But it was lurking there, just like the questions about whether Puck would start on a cry-for-help crimespree if Kurt chose Blaine. If he chose Puck, if he really did have to choose and Blaine wasn't the one, Blaine was going to lose what little protection he had at McKinley. The only thing keeping him safe right now was that he was living with the school's resident badass and dating a Cheerio and everyone knew not to mess with him too much. If he broke up with Blaine - and if Blaine therefore had to move out of Puck's house, which opened an entirely different can of worms - then Blaine would be left to fend for himself like everyone else in glee and Kurt wasn't sure he could sentence the guy to that kind of hell. But if Blaine was on Cheerios, too - if he was a rockstar in his own right, if he had social status on his own...it could take away a little of the guilt and worry.  
  
Not much. It didn't make the decision actually any easier, which was why he was continuing to shove it back any time it felt like the questions started to surface. But at least he wouldn't have to worry about Blaine suddenly finding himself a prime target for the school's bullies.  
  
But on the down side...if he chose Puck and still had to see Blaine every day after school for hours, and sing with him - the flirty duets where they couldn't help but have chemistry...what the hell was that going to mean for anyone? For Blaine, for Puck having to watch the two of them, for him having to try to force himself to stop being in love with Blaine when he sang? He wasn't even sure he could manage that when Blaine  _wasn't_  singing, let alone when Blaine lit up like that?  
  
And if he chose Blaine? How would it be fair to Puck, to make him see that?  
  
"You're not saying anything," Blaine observed nervously. "Is this another thing where I thought it was a good thing but you-"  
  
Kurt forced a smile. "Just surprised is all." That part was true, at least.   
  
"Honestly, Kurt, if it's a problem, I can go try to talk to her-"  
  
"Oh, no - you do not talk to Ms. Sylvester. Believe me." He reached out to squeeze Blaine's hand, and Blaine seemed to visibly relax. "It's a good thing. You'll be amazing. And it will be a lot better outlet for you than New Directions - believe me."  
  
"Yay - he's winning!" came a call as a group passed. It came from a sophomore girl Kurt had been in eighth grade with but whose name escaped him because she took almost entirely intro-level classes so she could keep her weekends free for drinking her parents' liquor cabinet dry. She and her friends seemed almost giddy to see the two together, and it took everything in Kurt not to drop Blaine's hand.  
  
God, what his life was coming to. Six months ago he would have been giddy to hold a boy's hand in the hallway, then he was terrified the guy whose hand he wanted to hold wouldn't be okay with the consequences because he wasn't gay, and now the proud, open,  _gay_  guy who had taken his hand less than five minutes after meeting him seemed like a threat somehow. Because holding hands meant taking sides and wasn't that what he'd been trying to avoid with the equal-time plan, the three-way dating?  
  
It wasn't fair. He should get to enjoy this, it shouldn't be a contest.  
  
Wait. Was it even a contest? Wasn't it all just a campaign for Blaine (and did he ever hate the incredible rhyme-ability of both boyfriends' names) at this point?  
  
Then he saw it - one of the guys on the basketball team strutting down the hall, a two-inch piece of black ribbon on his letter jacket. It was pinned in a vertical stripe.  
  
Like a mohawk.  
  
"Oh my god," Kurt murmured, staring as the guy passed.  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's not just you?"  
  
Blaine looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"  
  
"It's not just Team Blaine, there's also Team Puck?"  
  
"Yeah?" Blaine replied, stepping sideways a little to let Kurt have a better look at the poster he'd been staring at when Kurt had arrived. Surely enough, this one had black ribbons in vertical fence-posts across the top and bottom, with "Team Puck" in bold black letters.  
  
"So it wasn't a Warbler or- or anyone you knew, either, it wasn't even one of Charlie's hairbrained schemes, this was someone else?" Kurt asked slowly.  
  
"You think Charlie would be able to execute this on his own? He'd need me to get in here, and I would have shut that down. Contrary to popular belief, I don't have a death wish," Blaine replied with a roll of his eyes. "Look, I know where I stand here. This isn't Dalton - I'm the new kid, and I'm openly gay, and I'm in the glee club; the last thing in the world I would want to do is start a rivalry with the most popular guy in school and take it public. The fact that I have to compete with him for you is bad enough, but to be completely honest? I'm shocked enough that anyone is wearing one of the red ribbons, there is no way I would have voluntarily started this."  
  
"I know," Kurt said slowly. But if it wasn't Blaine, if it wasn't Charlie or one of the Warblers who was trying to build some enthusiasm, if it wasn't one of the jocks for whom Blaine was basically such a nonentity as to not even warrant a mention, who the hell would have done it?  
  
Who was pissed about the triad and wanted to break it up?  
  
He felt an icy knot form in his stomach. There was only one person he could think of who fit that description, who wanted Kurt not only to end the triad, but to pick Puck. Who knew that, if it came down to a public opinion campaign, Puck was bound to win in a landslide.   
  
"I'm going to kill him."  
  
"Who?" Blaine asked.  
  
"Finn."  
  
"Oh please," came Santana's voice from behind him. "Like Finn could come up with something that good."  
  
Kurt spun on the heel of his combat boot to face her. "You did this?" he demanded. It made sense, sort of - and even more sense when he saw her red ribbon because apparently she cared enough to want Puck all to herself - but what kind of twisted fucking person-  
  
That was kind of an obvious question when talking about Santana, though, wasn't it? She had managed to break up Finn and Rachel over sex she had with Finn when Rachel was dating someone else, just because she was bored. She had tried to blackmail Puck into not dating Kurt by keeping her legs closed - obviously that hadn't stuck for too long, but she had tried for quite awhile. She had used the solo she half-blackmailed out of Rachel to grind against two different 'taken' boys on stage in front of a thousand people.   
  
But why now? Why this? Why  _him?_  
  
Was it really just about wanting Puck for herself? Or was it something more? He was popular now - well, not popular so much as 'of elevated social standing,' but that probably worked out to the same thing in her mind even though it wasn't nearly the same in his. He was back on Cheerios - and Sue definitely liked him better than she had ever liked Santana, even before the implants. Doubly so now that he wasn't also in glee club and therefore seen as a potential traitor if push came to shove. He was dating the biggest badass in school who could stop a mob of slushie-throwers with one glare, at least these days.   
  
If he chose Blaine, then she really did win, Kurt realized with a sick feeling. Santana would not only get her regular weekday fuck back, but she'd be back as top dog. Or at least, closer to it - Quinn still had her beat by a long shot. He should start warning Sam and Quinn  _now_  to watch their backs, because they'd be next at this rate.   
  
She didn't answer him, just kept walking down the hall, and he raced after her. "Santana. Why are you physically incapable of being happy unless you're making other people miserable? Even when he's dating me, he's still sleeping with you and hasn't suggested changing that rule yet, so it's not as though you lose out. You two never  _dated_ anyway, even before the two of us got together. What is your problem?"  
  
She turned to face him and practically spat, "Okay, listen up Carson Kressley. Word on the street is you've gotta pick which guy you want, and - let's be honest: Puck's smokin, but he's never gonna be all up on gay ass. And while you hold him hostage so the rest of us can't get our mack on, there's another guy - that little Neil Patrick Harris wannabe with the cheesy grin and the stupid song-fest with hot guys in un-hot uniforms. That's the guy you're gonna end up with, everyone knows it. Especially Puck. So break up with him already so I can get back to comforting him. His reputation - and his body - are gonna need it." She tilted her head, ponytail swinging, and added, "Get him over the 'fruit' thing with a set of melons."  
  
He wasn't sure whether the appropriate response was to hurl all over her shoes or to find a girl who could fight her because he couldn't hit a girl. Damn his father for enforcing gender stereotypes exactly  _once_  in his life.   
  
Damn him for not being able to bring himself to dish out the same caliber of comments she loved so much. For all she made gay jokes, everyone in the school knew exactly what she and Brittany got up to. But he couldn't go there, even as easy as it would be for someone else.  
  
"Santana, as much as I enjoy besting you in every activity we share - Cheerios, glee club, and now popularity," he began smoothly with a tight, obviously-forced sweet smile, "and as much as I enjoy cheering on Quinn to do the same, thus ensuring that on your best day you can be no higher than third on whatever roster you so choose-" The increasing ferocity in her glare let Kurt know his calmly-delivered insults were doing their job, "I'm not sure I much see the point in getting the rest of the student body involved. Blaine's not exactly the popular kid here, but if your goal is to get me away from Puck I don't think making clear how much higher Puck's status is will help sway my opinion."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "That's because he's not going to win," she stated, using a patronizing tone and a wave of her manicured finger to accent key words. "Look around - how much red do you see? Nobody wants to see  _you_ -" Her eyes glanced up and down him, "end up with the resident stud. Everyone wants you to end up with Uncle Arthur over there. And I wants to pick up the pieces when Puck realizes that - with you? He's nothing. With  _me_ , on the other hand?" She grinned sweetly. "He'll be all up on this by the weekend."  
  
She walked away, and the only thing he could think of was...Puck wasn't all up on that already?  
  
* * * * *  
  
If lunch had been awkward before the ribbons started popping up, it was unbearable now. He didn't have enough clout to divide groups of friends based on their loyalties to his particular boyfriends, so some tables were freely mixed between red and black ribbons, but there were definite patterns.  
  
Santana had been wrong, that much was obvious. While most of the younger girls seemed to be giggling over their red ribbons and kind of fawning over the idea of Kurt and Blaine together, a surprising number of people seemed to be on Team Puck. Well, not surprising considering how many more friends Puck had at the school, but surprising insofar as they were supporting Puck in his gay relationship and most of them were the same assholes who had led the Second Great Slushie War.  
  
Maybe they didn't actually know what they were supporting Puck  _in_ , they just knew that it was Puck against Blaine and they weren't going to root for the little chorus guy. Kurt didn't honestly know.  
  
He was trying not to pay attention to it, but it was next to impossible. Kind of like it was next to impossible to ignore the way that everyone stared at him as he walked through the cafeteria with his tray and made his way towards his usual table.   
  
Oh god. Was nowhere safe?  
  
Mercedes had tacked a red ribbon diagonally across each side of her shirt - a  _lovely_  look with her aqua and fuschia and black colour scheme, by the way - and was giving him a pointed look as he sat down. Tina "only" had one, for which he supposed he should be grateful.   
  
"Thanks a lot," he said sarcastically as he sat down.  
  
"What?" Mercedes asked.  
  
"You don't think this is hard enough for me without my friends picking sides, too?" He unscrewed the top of his bottle of water with an angry snap of the wrist. "This isn't some stupid sports championship that doesn't matter. I have to destroy someone I love and people are choosing sides and making posters? I suppose I should just be glad there's no betting pool." The way no one - even Artie - could look him in the eye told him loud and clear that such a pool existed. He didn't want to know who had bet what, even if he had a feeling people would tell him.  
  
Quinn walked by with her own tray on her way to the Cheerios table, a black ribbon pinned very carefully to the shoulder of her uniform. When she saw the betrayed look Kurt shot her, she at least had the good sense to look apologetic - though Kurt couldn't guarantee it was for participating at all; she might just think he felt betrayed that she was defending Puck. The last few conversations hadn't gone so well on that front.  
  
At least the boys seemed to have the good sense not to participate in the insanity. No ribbons in sight on Mike, or Artie, or Sam when he walked past. Or on Rachel, which seemed strange - she was just oddly quiet on the whole subject. Kurt braced himself for the inevitable oversharing of her opinion, but none readily came. That was never a good sign.  
  
Blaine sat down in his usual place next to Kurt. "Okay, this is just ridiculous. There is no way this many people at this school even know who I  _am_."  
  
"Maybe they didn't before, but you kind of sealed your status yesterday," Mercedes replied.  
  
"You got up in front of the entire school to declare your love for Kurt in song - that's awesome," Tina added. "And maybe even more badass than Puck. I mean, when has he ever made that kind of gesture?"  
  
Kurt wanted to point out that Puck had made that kind of gesture plenty of times. He had dragged Kurt to a school he didn't attend anymore so that he could listen to an apology and a declaration of love by a guy he'd never heard of. Puck had driven two hours out of his way during the leadup to Sectionals so they could spend like an hour and a half together because they hadn't seen each other in days. Puck had done plenty of thoughtful, meaningful things for him - just because he didn't do them in front of the entire school didn't mean they didn't exist or that they were less important or that Puck was trying to hide them from everyone else. He just understood that not everything needed to be a giant production number and sometimes little private moments could be much bigger. For that matter, Puck had been the one who wanted to go public with the entire relationship from the beginning while Kurt was still afraid of what it would mean for them. Puck had never tried to hide the relationship...even if he wasn't any good at talking and certainly needed work on expressing how he felt. Not just about Kurt, though, not just about their relationship, but about everything.  
  
But did he speak up and say all of that? Did he point out to them that Puck had shown what Kurt needed to see a dozen times in the past, that it wasn't some tree that fell in the forest where no one could see? Or did he keep his mouth shut because it was none of their damned business until or unless he  _wanted_  to gossip to them about it? If he didn't say anything, did that tacitly confirm what Mercedes and Tina were implying, about Puck being a deadbeat boyfriend who didn't appreciate what he had? If he spoke up, was that kind of rude to the boyfriend sitting right next to him?  
  
Would he at some point be able to even sit with his friends and  _not_  have the conversation be full of landmines, of potential disaster zones where everything carried an implied judgment of loyalty or a lack thereof?   
  
Why couldn't everything just be like it was supposed to be? Why couldn't even something great like being in love ever turn out right for him?  
  
He silently stood, taking his tray to the garbage. Blaine followed him, gently catching his arm. "Hey - are you okay?"  
  
"Perfect," he stated dryly, rolling his eyes.  
  
"Kurt-"  
  
"I'm going to go work on my history paper. You should go eat."  
  
He wanted to be mad at Blaine, to say it was all his fault for making him choose, but he couldn't. It wasn't Blaine's fault for wanting to be happy, either. It was just the problem that apparently their happiness wasn't compatible.  
  
He wasn't sure if his happiness and Puck's were compatible, either. He didn't know anything right now.  
  
Throwing away his lunch, he slipped out of the lunchroom towards the library. As he went upstairs, Jacob and a couple of his AV-club friends were on their way down - sporting black ribbons and a look of fear. He wasn't sure if Puck had said anything or if they were preemptively trying to get on his good side; he didn't want to know anymore.  
  
Brittany was at the top of the stairs, giggling over something on her phone. "What's so funny?" he asked conversationally.  
  
"My cat," she replied. She held out her phone to show him; he fully expected a youtube video of some kind, possibly a lolcat (would a Brittany lolcat have proper spelling? he wondered) - instead he saw a text conversation screen. He just smiled and decided not to ask.  
  
He caught sight of the front pouch of her backpack. On the red waterproof fabric, just below the zipper, he saw an entire row of black vertical ribbon pieces - fourteen in all, a quick count revealed - and a single red diagonal ribbon on the far right end. "Brittany."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What's with the ribbons?"  
  
"Oh - for Puck. And Blaine."  
  
"Right," he said slowly. "But why do you have ribbons for both of them? And why are there so many for Puck?"  
  
"He's really great," she replied with a kind of halfway-dreamy smile. "I counted blowjobs as a quarter, and times with Santana and I as a half, and then Becky counted for me and that's how much we did it."  
  
He didn't need those mental images, he really did  _not_  need those mental images. But wait. "What in the world did you and Blaine do?" he asked, eyes wide.  
  
She looked at him, face deadpan. "It's a wish to grow on. You know, like on your birthday? He's really cute. And even though he's gay, he's not as gay as you. I could totally give him four blowjobs."  
  
Oh dear god. "Later, Brittany," he said quickly, heading down the hallway to his destination.  
  
He could safely say that, of all the people he expected to find hanging out in the library - a place with rules and restrictions on noise and people doing schoolwork - during lunch - a time generally free from all adult supervision where chaos could reign supreme - was Puck. But there he was. Kurt wasn't even sure what he was doing since it wasn't like he was doing any homework, there weren't even any books on the table.   
  
He was tempted to sit as far away as possible. After all, if anyone saw them, it would be all over Jacob ben Israel's website in like ten minutes, with everyone gossiping about how much time they were or weren't spending together, and if he was going to be on everyone's radar screens this much he should at least get to be performing in some kind of professional capacity for fuck's sake.   
  
No. Screw it. He was allowed to sit with his boyfriend and that was that. He hadn't left the cafeteria to get away from Blaine, he hadn't come to the library to be with Puck, and that was all the more he could say about it; no one would listen anyway. He slid into the chair across the table from Puck and set his bag in front of him. At the sound of the leather hitting wood, Puck looked over in surprise. "Hey."  
  
"Hey yourself," Kurt whispered. "I didn't know you even knew where the library was."  
  
Puck looked around curiously, like 'huh - so that's where I am', then shrugged. "Sup?"  
  
"Trying to escape the paparazzi," he replied. "I'm sorry about all of this. I didn't have anything to do with it - believe me."  
  
"I know. It one of Jacob's things? Gotta be killer for his blog hits."  
  
"No." Kurt shook his head and pulled out his notebook. "Santana."  
  
Puck looked not at all surprised. "Yeah, it does sound like her."  
  
"Are you still sleeping with her?" The question caught them both off-guard. Kurt hadn't been expecting to ask it, it just kind of tumbled out. He'd been wondering for half a day now, he wasn't sure how else to say it, and suddenly there it was, on the table.  
  
Puck shook his head, then shrugged. "Not really."  
  
Leave it to Puck to give the least informative answer possible. "Define 'not really.'"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"When was the last time?"  
  
"I dunno - the thing with her and Brittany before Christmas?"  
  
Kurt stared at him. All of that - all the times in the past few weeks that he asked Puck if he wanted to close the relationship, basically told him that if he was ready to give up Santana to freaking tell him already and they could change the rules instead of Puck just sitting around and pouting over going on a date with Blaine...All those times and Puck couldn't just man the hell up and say "Yeah, let's do this" when he  _wasn't sleeping with anyone else anyway_?   
  
Did Puck want to be with him at  _all_?  
  
This entire time, he'd been thinking that the reason Puck wouldn't say 'Let's change the rules' was because Puck didn't want to lose what he had on the side. But if he wasn't getting anything on the side, what the fuck was his problem?  
  
He could have avoided this entire situation. He wasn't going out and actively looking to date Blaine, he was perfectly happy when they were best friends who hung out all the time. He started messing around Blaine with express permission from Puck and started dating after having a conversation where he had told Puck point blank that if he didn't want to do this anymore, they wouldn't. But Puck had stayed quiet and let him think-  
  
Fucking seriously?   
  
"Unbelievable," he muttered. It was all he could put into words.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You weren't even sleeping with her, but when I asked if you wanted to close the relationship so you would stop pouting, you didn't even-" The ancient librarian touched his shoulder and he looked up. "Sorry," he whispered. "I'll keep it down."  
  
"No." She pointed her long, wrinkled finger towards the door where Ms. Sylvester was standing, looking...was that an emotion other than annoyance or anger on her face? He couldn't place what precisely it was, but it was off-putting. Since when did she request other people to retrieve someone, usually she just came in and grabbed them - sometimes by the collar - if they didn't move fast enough to her office.   
  
Slowly, with the feeling that all of this was kind of surreal somehow, he stood and crossed to where she was standing. Her towering presence seemed less formidable than usual, and her mouth was pressed together in this kind of thin line that seemed almost...worried? Concerned? Managing to keep his voice from shaking, he asked in the brightest way he could, "Do you need something, Ms. Sylvester?"  
  
"Kurt-"  
  
She never used his name. Before he was Porcelain he was Ladyface, and just Lady before that, and before that was Center Square or Paul Lynde or simply "gay kid." She used other people's names - Santana, Brittany, sometimes Quinn but not always...always Becky or James or Mark or any number of others...but never his.  
  
Oh god.  
  
He didn't really hear her speaking after that.  
  
"Your father's on the way to the hospital-"  
  
"Which hospital?" he heard Puck demand, but he already knew which one. He felt himself hurrying down the hallway towards the stairs, down the stairs, down the hall towards the parking lot. Not again - oh please no, not again. He'd almost died last time, and every piece of literature Kurt had ever seen from any source said that people were lucky to survive one heart attack; surviving two was so miraculous it was practically unheard-of, and he'd never been a lucky one.  
  
He felt someone grab his shoulder and he turned quickly, ready to release a torrent of frantic words about how he needed to get out  _now_  because his father could be dying and oh dear god had he just thought that? No. He couldn't think that, he couldn't say it, he needed to - what was the statistic he'd read about the power of positive thinking in relatives, that it...it aided something, crap, why couldn't he remember? He'd had the entire article printed and stuck in his folder for months after the arrhythmia, when his dad seemed like an entirely different person and was completely unable to take care of himself-  
  
"Give me your keys." Puck's voice was steady, firm, so even it made Kurt feel like he might come apart at the seams even more quickly by comparison.  
  
"I have to-"  
  
"They're getting Finn, he's meeting us at the car. Give me your keys, you can't drive."  
  
It took him much longer to fish the key ring out of its usual place in the front pocket of his satchel than it should have. Probably because his hands were shaking, right? That would make sense, his fingers quivering and feeling kind of numb couldn't make it easy to grab something that narrow. That was probably the reason. Maybe. He thought so, anyway.  
  
Puck held out his hand, and Kurt placed the keys carefully in his palm before glancing up for a moment. Puck's eyes bore into him and how the hell could he look so calm at a time like this? "I-"  
  
"I know. C'mon," Puck urged, leading him towards the car.  
  
If Finn took longer than two minutes, Kurt swore he was bribing Puck with whatever he could to get him to leave anyway. From his place in the front seat, staring out the window, he was dimly aware of Finn climbing into the back seat, Blaine on his heels, with an explanation about how Blaine overheard and insisted.  
  
He didn't care. He didn't want to talk to any of them. He needed to be at the hospital, at his father's bedside, holding his hand and talking to doctors.   
  
Assuming they weren't already past that point.


	4. Chapter 4

He swore it hadn't taken this long last time.  
  
He had no idea how much time had actually passed - then or now - but it felt so much longer. And it had felt like an eternity last time.  
  
Maybe it was because he knew what to be afraid of now, he concluded, as he paced slowly in front of the row of chairs where the four of them had camped out. Before, he had known enough to be afraid that his dad might be dead but that was as far as his brain could go. He had been able to quash that fear pretty quickly once he figured out that if his dad had died, it wouldn't be taking so long and someone would have been out to tell him.   
  
Now he knew it wasn't that simple. His father's wellbeing wasn't as simple as "He's alive, that means he's fine." There were comas, there was brain damage, there was the possibility of paralysis so his dad could never work on a car again. There was the possibility of losing speech, of losing memory - not knowing who Kurt was when he walked in the room. Or what might be worse, not remembering who Kurt's mom had been. Six months ago he hadn't known that there was such a thing as a myocardial rupture or pericarditis or any number of other terms that meant staying up all night on wikipedia and webMD.   
  
He should pull out his phone and start looking, but he didn't even know where to start. He didn't have a term to start with. He had no idea what was happening or what he could be looking up. He drew his arms in more tightly; left around his torso, right fist curled against his mouth as he wondered when precisely the urge to bite his nails had started to pop up as a nervous habit.  
  
Finn was driving him crazy. He was bouncing all over the place, nervous and jittery and looking like he was about to start climbing the damn walls like some kind of caged puppy, and Kurt wanted to just grab him by his tall shoulders and tell him to sit the hell  _down_  already because he couldn't take watching him and it made everything seem like it was moving in slow motion by comparison. He couldn't bring himself to - Finn was scared too, he got that. He didn't think Finn necessarily had a right to be right now, not the same way he was, but Finn was family now so it at least...he had to deal with Finn whether he wanted to or not.  
  
"Mom should be here," Finn muttered as he collapsed heavily into the chair to the right of Puck.  
  
"We've called her six times, Finn, her phone's off - probably because the new day shift manager is a jackass about calls," Kurt reminded him icily.   
  
Blaine reached up and tried to catch his hand on his next slow, pacing pass, but only succeeded at swiping gently at Kurt's side. He jumped, and Blaine stood and put his hands on Kurt's upper arms. "You should sit down - maybe try to eat something? You skipped lunch, I could go to the cafeteria-"  
  
He cringed at the physical contact. Blaine looked kind of wounded, but he couldn't care right now. He couldn't care about anything right now except his dad.  
  
Why wasn't anyone coming out to talk to him yet? Why wasn't there any news? It felt like it had been hours, why didn't they know anything?  
  
As much as the wait last time had been agonizing, and sitting with a teacher who was ambivalent about him at best and the guidance counselor who probably had pamphlets about the topic entitled "When Hearts Attack!" wasn't exactly his idea of an ideal group of people to turn to in a crisis, at least they had had the good sense to leave him alone. To stay quiet and let him be as scared and miserable as he was going to be anyway, but without adding to the growing list of things he needed to worry about.  
  
He should be doing something. Something other than pacing. If they were running tests, he should be looking up what they were and what they could rule out and what results he should be hoping for; if they were done physically running the tests and waiting for results, he should be sitting with his dad. That's where he should be right now, not pacing in the waiting room with a six-foot-ridiculous bundle of nerves and a boyfriend who wanted to force-feed him and another boyfriend who at least had the good sense to just stay seated and shut the hell up.  
  
Pacing, he concluded, was just making time feel like it was passing more slowly. He felt like he'd been walking forever, his calves sore from pacing in boots that - while comfortable - were not made for striding slowly across the same 4-foot stretch of carpet, pivoting, and walking back for hours on end.  
  
Had hours even passed yet? Or was it more like twenty minutes?  
  
Shouldn't adrenaline be kicking in? He was exhausted. He shouldn't be this exhausted - not knowing what was to come.  _That_  would be exhausting under the best of circumstances. His father was hardly an ideal patient. He complained about what he had to eat and puttered around the house at all hours of the day and night and groused about things that shouldn't have bothered him; he had turned into kind of a jerk last time. Not that it was his fault, Kurt imagined he wouldn't be much better if he was stuck with nothing to do but watch daytime tv for weeks at a time, unable to wear anything but pajamas, but it was exhausting to try to force a cheery attitude around it day in and day out.  
  
Of course, that had been from the damage - they thought, at least. He'd never gotten a definitive answer on that. Most of it hadn't been permanent, so essentially the doctor's response had been "don't worry about it, it's gone." He had no way of knowing if that would come back.  
  
Assuming it was the same thing as before. Assuming it wasn't something worse.  
  
Assuming his dad wasn't dead - or braindead - already.  
  
He felt suddenly like his legs might not hold him, and he reached out to guide himself into the chair beside Puck. Blaine grabbed his arm and tried to make sure he made it there safely, but he didn't want to-...he didn't want people reaching for him. He didn't want to deal with  _that_  aspect of everything on top of it all. He was sure by now the entire glee club was praying for him - after all, now that he was Finn's dad, too, that gave them even more room to disregard his wishes, right?   
  
It was exhausting enough without having to worry about dealing with other people, with how they felt about it all, with their misguided attempts at so-called help. It was going to be exhausting enough trying to manage Carole managing his dad.  
  
And if Blaine kept touching him, he was going to lose it.   
  
He had been stronger in October, he concluded, that was why it hadn't been quite this hard then. He had walls, he was used to pulling himself together in the presence of others, he could fake it better. He could pretend to function better. Now...thanks to Puck, but mostly thanks to Blaine, he had to work a lot harder to look okay. He had to fight harder to keep from dissolving into tears - eye-watering was one thing, but full-on tears were probably premature and he knew that, but he couldn't quite-  
  
It hurt less if people left him alone. There was a reason he hadn't reached out to ask to stay with anyone in October - it was easier for him to just deal with it.  
  
Even if he did kind of wish he could just be curled on Puck's bed, his head in that little nook thing by where his neck and shoulder met, like he was after everything with Dalton.  
  
Blaine's hand was on his back, rubbing gentle circles between his shoulder blades and whispering logical platitudes about how tests take awhile, but the fact that they hadn't come out yet to give bad news meant it wasn't  _that_  kind of emergency, that he was sure it would be okay and these were the best cardiologists in Ohio - apparently there was some ratings page he'd managed to pull up on his phone, Kurt wasn't sure, but Blaine seemed to be completely certain of their competence.   
  
Puck watched Kurt out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't like a guy who was totally great at reading people, but he'd spent enough time with Kurt over the last like five months that he knew some stuff. And the dude was about to flip his shit. He was starting to look kind of caged, tense - his jaw was tightening, his neck was starting to tilt, that meant he was like five minutes away from total meltdown territory and that was never good. He tried shooting Blaine a look to back off, but Blaine was too busy whispering something in Kurt's ear that didn't seem to be making him any less coiled.  
  
He was trying to help, Kurt knew that; Blaine was trying to make him feel better, but he couldn't- He couldn't sit here and listen to all the logical reasons why his dad was probably okay and they were probably just being overly cautious. He didn't believe it; it rang about as true at that moment as people talking about how god was looking out for him and wouldn't give him more than he could handle. He supposed he should just be glad the G-word hadn't popped out of his boyfriend's mouth yet. Or that Finn hadn't gone off in search of sandwiches to baptize or tacos to look for the face of the Virgin Mary in or something.  
  
He couldn't manage managing them right now. But short of telling Blaine to fuck off and go away, which would be ridiculous because it wasn't Blaine's fault - it really wasn't - he didn't know how to tell him to...well, fuck off and go away. So he went with the next best alternative.   
  
"I'm going to go try Carole again," he said quietly, plucking his phone from his jacket pocket and carrying it out into the stairwell where no one yelled at him for using the cellular device.   
  
Puck had been trying to stay out of it. No, really - he had. There were times trying to best Blaine made sense, were the right thing to do, but not when someone's dad was on the line. He didn't want to make it a thing. But now Kurt was ducking out of the room to get away from people, and Blaine was freaking looking hurt by it?   
  
"Let's go get food or something," he suggested in Blaine's direction.  
  
"When he comes back- or if they come out with news-"  
  
"Someone'll get him," Puck replied. "And Finn's here. Besides, he won't be gone long." Kurt couldn't stay away, he knew that. The guy had sat in the hospital every day from the time school let out until they kicked him out at 10, then again in the mornings before school; he wasn't going to go take a break to wander around town. "C'mon."  
  
Blaine nodded reluctantly and headed down the hall. He paused to glance at the sign on the wall, trying to figure out where the cafeteria was. "I've seen him upset before, but this is just so...broken." His voice was beyond sad, bowed under the weight of sympathy and with a look of near-defeat, like he wanted to do nothing more than hug Kurt until everything was okay. Puck got the instinct, but he couldn't get why Blaine didn't get why that wasn't a good idea. The guy knew like everything about Kurt and what he liked, how could he not take one look at Kurt and see that all the back-rubbing and whispering about how it would be okay was driving him batshit?  
  
...because Blaine had never really seen it, he realized slowly as they walked down the hall in silence towards the elevators. Blaine had seen Kurt upset, but he hadn't seen him the weekend after he got kicked out of Dalton. He'd seen Kurt bummed out about the whole thing afterward, but he hadn't seen the look like the guy was just  _gone_  and walking around in a hollow shell because he was too sad to exist anymore. Blaine hadn't seen Kurt the first time his dad was in the hospital, practically a zombie for weeks because he stopped eating or sleeping.  
  
Blaine didn't get that sometimes shit didn't turn out okay. Sometimes people died, or they left, and the best you could hope for was walking around numb for awhile until you could actually function again.   
  
"Look, he doesn't like people touching him," Puck stated quietly. He didn't like the whole arrangement, but at the very least he loved Kurt enough to not want him going crazy, and if that meant sharing his advice, then whatever.  
  
Blaine looked at him like he'd lost his mind. Because as far as Blaine was concerned, of course Kurt liked people touching him - he was into holding hands and cuddling and laying across each other while watching movies and making out with a lot of full-body contact. "Since when?"  
  
"When he's upset. He hates the whole 'let's hug and make you feel better' thing. I mean, he's big on comfort sex, and sometimes he'll kinda cling after, but you're freaking him out. Back off a little."  
  
Blaine turned to stare at him, his funky-shaped eyebrows (seriously, they were like perfect fucking triangles) knitting together suspiciously. "What do you mean, back off? He's hurting, and just because you don't do touchy-feely things doesn't mean he doesn't need or want it."  
  
Puck rolled his eyes and punched the 'down' button with his thumb. "I do touchy-feely fine when he needs it. He usually tells me to fuck him instead. If it gets really bad, like when he got kicked out of that stupid fancy fucking school of yours, he'll want it. But he gets twitchy if he's not the one initiating it."  
  
"That doesn't even make sense, why would he-"  
  
"I don't know, dude, but he does. I'm just saying, Ms. H is gonna be here soon and she hovers, and we should leave him alone. He doesn't need more crap to deal with."  
  
"He withdraws so much, gets so far inside his own head when things happen," Blaine pointed out reasonably. "He needs someone to reassure him."  
  
"Reassure him what? That everything'll be fine? You don't know that any more than he does. He knows people come into hospitals and don't come out - or come out all damaged like his dad was last time." The elevator opened and Puck stepped in, fighting the urge to let it leave without Blaine. What? The dude was starting to even drive  _him_  crazy, not getting it. "He doesn't do the empty promises thing any other time, why would it make him feel better now?"  
  
"So you're suggesting that I do nothing?" Blaine concluded. When Puck shrugged and nodded, Blaine shook his head. "I can't even pretend to understand what he sees in you. You hang back even when he needs you, you abandon him when he gets the best news of his life, you play around and won't commit to anyone or anything so that I have to be the one to break his heart even though neither of us liked the arrangement, and then when he needs both of us to be as supportive and helpful and loving as humanly possible because he's going through something scary, you tell me to back off and not do anything."  
  
Puck's eyes narrowed into a hard glare as the elevator door opened on the bottom floor. "It's what he needs. If you wanna be a punk, that's up to you."  
  
They walked to the cafeteria in silence. Blaine picked up a sandwich for himself, then began to look through the selection of salads to try to find something non-disgusting for Kurt. "He won't eat that."  
  
Blaine spun to face Puck, beyond frustrated. "What is your problem?"  
  
"My problem? The guy doesn't eat when he's upset. Or when he's scared. You're the one he talks to about everything, how do you not know that?"  
  
Blaine looked like it was taking all his energy not to challenge Puck to a fight of some kind, and Puck had read that being pissed off made people stupid but he didn't think it could make anyone quite  _that_  dumb. "I'm trying to help, okay? He needs to eat something, he didn't have anything for lunch because he was being driven crazy by the stupid contest and it's been a couple hours already."  
  
"Okay, but he's still not gonna eat anything you take him."  
  
"Oh, but he'd eat something you take him?" Blaine threw back irritatedly.  
  
"Fuck no. That's why I'm not gonna try shoving food down his throat until he knows what's going on. Kurt's skinny but not gonna die from missing one freaking meal."  
  
"What makes you so sure you know what's best for him?" Blaine demanded as he plucked an orange from the bowl of fruit near the register. "You walk around acting like you know what he wants, what's good for him, but it's not as though he's chosen you. If you knew everything you act like you do, I wouldn't even stand a shot in any of this. Why can't you allow for the possibility that your way isn't the only one that works?"  
  
Puck rolled his eyes. "Fine. Do what you want. Not like I can stop you from buying him a sandwich." He added a few bags of chips to the tray and grabbed two cokes and a bottle of water to add to the two sandwiches he already had. After paying (total ripoff, but how lame would it be to get sent back to juvie over hospital food?), he headed back upstairs. Blaine could do whatever, he could fuck off for all Puck cared. He could bring up a whole freaking tray of food Kurt would normally...well, not hate at least. But Kurt wouldn't eat it.  
  
When he got back to the waiting room, Kurt had moved to sit over closer to the corner where it was more deserted. He handed off the tray to Finn, snagging the bottle of water as he walked over and sat in the empty chair beside his boyfriend. Kurt looked mistier than he had when he'd left - he was starting to hit the point where it looked like tears might start spilling over soon. To be honest, Puck was kind of surprised it had taken this long. He pressed the bottle of water into Kurt's hand and asked, "News?"  
  
Kurt shook his head and set the water by his feet. "No," he replied quietly.  
  
"You reach her?"  
  
"No. I tried calling the main number, she went to lunch but didn't turn her phone on, I can try back in half an hour." Puck nodded and settled into the chair to wait some more. Slowly, without a word, Kurt's arm brushed against his on the armrest; he started to move it away, but Kurt's hand reached out to stop him. He felt the soft hand slide into his and squeeze, and that made his chest just  _ache_. He squeezed back and heard a shudder in Kurt's breathing, then felt Kurt's head come to rest on his shoulder.  
  
It wasn't fair that the guy had to go through all this again. Especially after last time, but even just in general. Wasn't there enough shit in his life without his dad getting sick again?   
  
Blaine returned to the waiting room, empty-handed except for two steaming cups - probably coffee, could be tea for all Puck knew. He sat on Kurt's other side and offered one cup wordlessly. When Kurt closed his eyes and shook his head, cheekbone pressing awkwardly into Puck's shoulder, both expected some kind of protest - urging him to at least drink something or some shit like that. Instead Blaine simply set both cups on the side table next to the magazines and shifted, getting comfortable for the foreseeable future. After a few moments of silence, Kurt awkwardly reached over and laced his other hand through Blaine's.  
  
And there they sat.  
  
* * * * *  
  
It was almost four when the doctor finally came out. Not Dr. Lau - a new guy Kurt didn't recognize from last time. He was on his feet immediately and managed to close the space to the doctor before Carole could even though she was easily six or eight feet closer. "How is he?" he asked, his question coming out in a rush of of air and much higher than he was used to sounding anymore.  
  
"He's going to be fine."  
  
"Really? Oh- Oh, thank God," she murmured, her voice filled with relief. She would, Kurt thought absently; she'd spent the past couple hours praying while looking awkward and distant, as though she didn't do it often but felt like it was the thing she should be doing. It had taken everything in him to be nicer than he'd been last time and stay quietly in his corner.  
  
"Fine - what do you mean, fine?" Kurt asked, arms crossing. Over the past few hours he'd gone from terrified to anxious to hopeless to scared and now was in full-on anxious-mode again. He'd been to enough doctors' appointments to know that it wasn't like a cardiac patient just came into the hospital and was actually fine - at the very least there were more things to it than that. There were medications and stress tests and follow-ups and diet changes and-  
  
"I mean he's fine. There's nothing serious wrong with him."  
  
"I-I don't understand. How can nothing be wrong with him, he-"  
  
"He came in with chest pains and a racing sensation. After a heart attack, that's not uncommon - but because of his arrhythmia, and because it's a little late in the game to see this kind of racing, we wanted to be extra careful, keep an extra close eye on him, run a few more tests. His nuclear scan came back clean, no blood clots, there aren't any blockages, his cholesterol's not bad, his BP was high when he came in but is stable now. I've called the doctor who has been monitoring him since October, and we're adjusting the dosage on his anti-arrhythmia drug so keep a close eye on him, but otherwise everything checks out."  
  
"So he was really okay? Just a scare?" Carole asked. Her right hand twiddled fussily with her wedding ring, hands up near her chest as she glanced from the doctor over to Kurt and back again. Kurt felt like he should have more of an answer than this, like he should have known this was a possibility, but mostly his head was spinning. Nothing was wrong? How could nothing be wrong after sitting out here for that long? What weren't they telling him?   
  
"Just a scare," he confirmed. "But it's a good thing he came in. Like I tell all my patients in this situation - I would rather he come in and spend an afternoon making sure he's actually okay, than have him ignore signs and miss when something's wrong. If it happens again, he should come back - but you'll know it's cause for urgency but not panic, okay?" He smiled warmly in a way that Kurt could imagine coming from Patrick Dempsey.  
  
Why couldn't he feel reassured? Why did he still feel like someone was going to run around the corner and call for a crash cart because his dad was dying and no one knew? Why was his own heart still racing if his dad's was fine? "I want to see him."  
  
"Of course. We're going to keep him overnight for observation, you can take him home in the morning assuming nothing changes." He flagged down a nurse and requested, "Can you take them to 2313?"  
  
"Sure thing," she replied, leading Kurt, then Carole, then Finn, down the hall.  
  
His dad looked tired, but mostly he looked sheepish and relieved and  _alive_  and it took everything in Kurt not to launch himself at the bed to cling like a five year old with a nightmare.  



	5. Chapter 5

The Puckerman house was silent.  
  
It wasn't strange so much as oddly appropriate, Puck thought as he laid in bed and stared at the ceiling. If he had to make a bet, he guessed Kurt's house was just as quiet - and as quiet as last time. Finn would be passed out in his room like nothing was wrong, Ms. H. probably went to sleep because they knew nothing was actually wrong, and Kurt was definitely pacing the basement. Maybe going up to the living room to pace every once in awhile. Probably trying to force himself to sit down and relax and watch tv or do something on his computer every once in awhile, but mostly just being awake and hating the silence.  
  
At least this time it was only for a night; his dad'd be home tomorrow and there wasn't any damage - at least, Finn said there wasn't in the text message. Apparently the guy was complaining about a Duke game and that meant everything was fine. Finn was his boy and all, but there were times Puck really wanted to tell him to just fucking shove it. The way he acted like Burt was his dad and all, but then didn't worry about anything deeper than that? He probably thought the guy was totally fine after the heart attack, too, as soon as he was awake and talking.   
  
What was it with people who knew Kurt that they thought everything was all hunky-dory after big shit happened? The guy was shit at hiding things once you actually knew him - the ice queen thing was totally a front he put on, same with the 'head bitch in charge' thing that went on with the uniform. If  _he_  knew this crap and he wasn't exactly a psychic or anything, and he kinda didn't pay attention a lot of times when people were talking because he got bored or distracted by how hot they were or whatever, shouldn't the other people who knew Kurt get it too?  
  
Finn was kinda oblivious. I mean, the dude  _did_  think he got Quinn pregnant when they never had sex, so Puck supposed he could write off Finn's stupidity as just...the guy being who he was. But Blaine wasn't an idiot. He supposedly got all the shit Kurt was supposed to need, and he had everyone pretty well fooled about what was best for the guy, but then he'd go pull shit like the pep rally invasion or try and get all cuddly and mothery when Kurt was upset, and it was like...dude, if you know him that well, what's your fucking problem? Or do you just not care?  
  
He kinda wanted to text Kurt and ask if he should come over - comfort sex worked at a time like this, he was totally up for it. But he didn't think he could quite sneak past Carole at 2:30 a.m., and he doubted Kurt really could either. Instead he settled for a simple  _u awake_  
  
The response came a few minutes later.  _Trying not to be._  
  
 _wnt me 2 cum ovr_  
  
The wait was longer this time, but eventually he received the reply.  _No, but thank you. I'm going to try some warm milk. If that doesn't work, I'll just stay up. I can see him at 6._  
  
So much for that.  
  
He wasn't sure why he couldn't sleep, considering it wasn't his family in the hospital or anything, but every time he tried he just kept rolling over and wondering how Kurt was. The normal-sounding texts didn't help him, not much at least. Kurt could be relatively okay, or he could be curled up on his bed and practically clinging to the phone as he typed; he couldn't really tell from here. Either way, the guy was gonna be a total zombie the next few days because Puck didn't think Kurt would be able to sleep just because his dad was under the same roof again. He'd probably be camped out outside his parents' bedroom in case of an emergency or something. He knew if something happened to Sarah he probably wouldn't be much better, and she was kinda a brat who annoyed him most of the time.  
  
What was it about Kurt that made him feel so fucking helpless? And, knowing how much the feeling freaking  _sucked_ , why did he stay in it?   
  
Because the feeling when he left would suck more. Because if he didn't give a shit, if he didn't care enough to stick around, then it wouldn't feel like this in the first place. It hadn't really bugged him feeling powerless when other people's lives sucked because he didn't care. He didn't like feeling like he couldn't brag about how badass and totally fucking awesome he was, but that was nothing compared to what this felt like. This was only with certain people. Finn when he wasn't the one causing shit. Quinn when she wasn't being a total bitch to him and treating him like some anonymous sperm donor who didn't deserve a say. His mom and Sarah. And Kurt.  
  
Sighing, he shoved back the blankets and padded downstairs in his underwear and wifebeater. Not like laying around and staring at the walls was gonna make him feel less crappy. He should be doing something. Didn't know what, but something.  
  
Food, he concluded.  
  
Kurt didn't eat when he was upset, but even once he wasn't so freaked out about something he still didn't have time to cook. Not the way he was gonna be hovering over his dad the next week or so. And besides, there were other people in the house who needed food, too.  
  
He wasn't, like, a great cook or anything, but he could make a few things. Take them over in the morning or something. It's what people did when someone was sick, right?  
  
He padded to the kitchen and pulled out his mom's recipe box, flicking through to see what they might have the stuff to make. He couldn't go get anything at like 3 a.m. because the WalMart was the only thing that was open all night and it wasn't one of the good ones with the produce section, so he had to start with things already in the kitchen. If he wanted to go when the grocery store opened at...5-something? He had no idea, he wasn't usually up in the morning before the last possible minute. Whenever. Whenever it opened, he could go get more if he wanted, but he was gonna start now.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
Puck jumped in surprise at the voice (which he would totally deny later). "Fucking hell, dude!"  
  
"Sorry," Blaine replied, leaning awkwardly against the doorjamb in his pajama pants and tshirt. "I thought you saw me when you walked past."  
  
"Huh?" Blaine nodded towards the couch and Puck got what he meant. "Oh. No."  
  
"Oh," Blaine replied simply. The silence was tense enough before he ventured, "Have you heard from Kurt?"  
  
Puck was tempted to be an ass and not tell him, but he figured lying wouldn't win him any points with anyone. "Little bit ago. He's awake but seems...I dunno. Kinda okay."  
  
"That's good." Another tense silence, then Blaine asked, "So what are you doing?"  
  
"Cooking."  
  
"Sudden craving for omelets at 3 a.m.?" he joked, then saw the pans Puck had assembled and amended, "or for casserole, I suppose?"  
  
"For him - to take over there.  
  
"Can't sleep either?" Blaine asked quietly, arms crossed over his chest.  
  
Puck quirked an eyebrow, but replied honestly, "Nope." He opened the fridge - there wasn't a ton, but there was some stuff that had to be in these recipes somewhere, right? At the very least there were some veggies and whatever. That was probably good for whatever Kurt would eat. Even if he had photographic evidence that the guy had eaten macaroni and cheese and only bitched a little about it- the kind from the box, too. He was kinda proud of that; he suspected the threat that Kurt would have go home and thereby waste a good hour of makeout time if he wanted something else to eat had something to do with it.  
  
"Want some help?"  
  
Okay, was the dude freaking serious? He had muscled in on every single aspect of his life, especially all aspects that had to do with Kurt, he tried to steal his thunder everywhere including at school, was a total dumbass at the hospital, and now wanted in on the like one nice thing he could think of to do?  
  
"I just..." Blaine shifted. "I know he's hurting, but you were right - we have to give him space. It just makes me feel sort of helpless, y'know? I thought maybe if I were doing something...but you're right. It would probably be weird, we're not exactly friends or anything," he added quickly, backpedaling for all his freakishly short legs were worth.  
  
But he looked genuinely worried. And exhausted but like he'd given up on sleep after trying even longer than Puck had been. And like he was kind of fighting every urge to drive across town and curl up in Kurt's bed because he didn't know what the fuck to do to help.  
  
He felt helpless because he cared, too, Puck acknowledged begrudgingly.   
  
"Sure. Not like there's anything else to do."   
  
Blaine smiled and pulled out his phone. "Low-sodium, right?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Because it's his heart, it should be low sodium?" When Puck gave him a confused look, Blaine replied, "Looking up recipes."  
  
"Salads aren't comfort food, it's not what you take when someone's sick. You take Jewish mother food."  
  
"Will Kurt eat Jewish mother food?" Blaine pointed out, and Puck rolled his eyes. Okay. Fine. The hobbit had a point, kind of. Whatever. He moved over to give Blaine some space on the counter as he pulled out the stuff to make the rice salad stuff his mom had made last time. It didn't really have much salt in it, and he knew Finn would eat it at least. He couldn't guarantee whether Kurt had eaten it last time - he'd kind of been detained by that point and couldn't really ask - but it seemed like something Kurt would eat and probably halfway like.   
  
Somewhere in the middle of peeling what seemed like three dozen zucchini, even though Puck knew there was no way there were more than four in there, Blaine turned to him and offered, "I'm sorry for what I said at the hospital." Puck gave his best unimpressed look, and Blaine continued, "You were right. You do know how he deals with things better. I don't know why I acted like you were trying to sabotage me, I think it's that everyone else is trying to set us up as enemies and I let myself get caught up in it."  
  
"It wasn't cool, dude," Puck allowed quietly as he flicked on the oven. He wasn't so sure about this weird vegetarian low-sodium low-fat low-carb lasagna thing Blaine had found the recipe for, but whatever. It needed to bake.  
  
"I know you love him. I don't understand why he loves you, but I know that he does. It's just that I love him too, and I don't know how to walk away from that."  
  
Blaine's openness caught him off-guard a little. Puckzilla didn't go around just talking about this shit with people - he didn't think anyone did. He knew most of the guys he hung out with didn't. Sam kind of, sometimes, but not really and mostly he talked to Finn because he seemed to still think that Puck was gonna kick his ass for being in love with his ex-girlfriend. Even Artie didn't, and the guy was all kinds of loser. He would've blamed it on being gay, but Kurt didn't talk about that shit either. At least not with him, even when he offered. He couldn't imagine being in a conversation where it would feel like the right thing to do to just start spouting off about being in love with someone and being afraid to walk away and shit. It was like the opposite of badass.  
  
Or was it? After all, it took serious balls to lay it all out on the line like that, just let whatever was gonna come hit you come and hit you. Like walking down the hall hand-in-hand with your totally gay boyfriend and not giving a shit because everyone else can fuck off. It took fucking guts to be that open.  
  
Maybe he could give Blaine a little credit. A really freaking tiny amount, but a little anyway.   
  
"I tried to," Puck admitted haltingly. From the way Blaine's head jerked up, he hadn't been expecting that. "Easy, Frodo. It's not like I like you or anything," he added, rolling his eyes. "I was gonna tell him he should go be happy with you. You're gonna win anyway, I figured it was better for him if I...step back or whatever. You beat me to it with the fucking competition."  
  
Blaine stared at him, then slowly asked, "So why didn't you?"  
  
"No idea," Puck replied, stirring the pot with the noodles. "Guess I don't know how, either."  
  
They cooked in silence for awhile after that.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"That's it- Okay, little further," Kurt coached encouragingly as he led his father from the garage into the living room.  
  
"Kid, you did hear the part where the doctor said I'm fine, right?"  
  
"I know, but that doesn't mean you can't take the day to relax." He had forgotten how frustrating his father could be once he'd hit the point where he felt well enough to be irritated by being stuck at home. Most of what he remembered was from before that point, when the post-heart attack depression was kind of bad and the damage to his emotional centers and everything. He had managed to convince himself that everything else was okay once those were better; no, his dad tended to spend the time being obstinate and generally refusing to follow any health-related orders.  
  
"You didn't have to skip school, I'd be fine here myself."  
  
"Absolutely not," Kurt replied, getting him settled onto the couch. "Carole had to work, and I don't mind. I'm ahead in all my classes anyway, one day won't hurt. Besides, you heard what the doctor said; we need to keep a close eye on you the next few days to make sure everything is as fine as it looked on the scans."  
  
"So you're just gonna hover all day?"  
  
"Forgive me for being worried," Kurt snapped frustratedly. What did his dad want from him? What did anyone freaking want from him? He was trying here. He was trying to keep everything together when he was being pulled in fourteen different directions and no one seemed to appreciate that he was even trying. Instead it was all about how irritating he was, how he couldn't relax, couldn't settle down, couldn't make the choice already - like any of those things was easy under ordinary circumstances, let alone piled together like this. He saw the look his dad was giving him and sighed, sitting in the chair beside the couch. "Sorry, Dad."  
  
"What's gotten into you?"  
  
"Nothing. Just tired." It was an understatement; he was exhausted. More emotionally drained than anything else, really, but the approximately twenty-seven minutes of sleep he'd gotten weren't really holding him up anymore.  
  
"Not over me, is it?" Burt asked, eyeing him suspiciously as he pulled the throw blanket off the back of the couch. "'Cause I'm serious, buddy, I'm fine. I felt off, I panicked a little, I feel like an idiot but I feel fine."  
  
"No, Dad. Not over you," Kurt replied. It was partly true, at least. "And like everyone said, it's better that you went in and could rule out anything serious."  
  
"Then what's this about?"  
  
He didn't have the energy to keep dodging questions, especially since his dad didn't seem nearly as tired as he was irritable and curmudgeonly at a time like this. He was drained and confused and ached every time he thought about the choice he had to make, the people he was guaranteed to hurt; it had been bad enough when it was just the three of them, but now it was practically the entire town and his friends were taking sides and no matter how hard he tried, how many logical and objective standards he tried to apply, he couldn't figure out what he should do.  
  
He knew his dad wouldn't be comfortable with the conversation in the first place - it was about boy problems, and while his dad was accepting he hadn't given any indication that he was 'ready' for that conversation yet. He knew the question he wanted to ask, was burning to ask, was going to go over like a lead balloon because it was something they didn't talk about, that he never  _ever_  asked about, but he wasn't sure he could keep not talking to anyone. And everyone at school had loyalty implications now.  
  
"Did you and Mom ever-" He stopped as his dad's eyes widened. His dad talked about her a lot - how brave she was, how much he wished she were here, how proud she would be of him, that kind of thing. He didn't really. He would occasionally tell a story in a particular context, but it wasn't something he really asked about.  
  
"Ever what?" Burt prompted.  
  
Kurt drew in a deep breath and asked quietly, "Did you ever feel like you couldn't remember what it was you loved about her?"  
  
There was a long silence, then Burt let out a long, deep sigh. "Jeez, Kurt."  
  
"I'm sorry. Don't worry about it." Kurt stood and headed towards the kitchen. "Are you hungry? I can make something."  
  
"Yeah," he said slowly. "Sometimes. Mostly when you were a baby and stuff was hectic, y'know?" He sounded almost as if it was physically painful for him to admit. "This a...thing with Puckerman?"  
  
Kurt let out a quiet sigh and nodded. "Yes." He grabbed a bottle of water and leaned against the counter. "Blaine's making me choose. Knowing what I love about Blaine is easy - we can talk about anything for hours, he's sweet and he's charming and he makes me laugh...but with Puck it's harder. I know that I love him, I know that I can't imagine just walking away from him, but I can't remember what it is. Lately we've been so miserable that I can't entirely..." he trailed off as he saw the vaguely sick look on his dad's face. "I'll be in my room."  
  
"I dunno on that one." His tone was stilted, but it was obvious he was trying, however gauche it seemed. "You're the one dating the guy." Kurt just nodded. "He wouldn't've been my first choice for a guy for you, especially not when you hadn't dated someone before. But it seems like he's been pretty good to ya, he's not as much of a delinquent as I thought - you're not showing up drunk, grades are as good as ever, I still think it's a stupid hairdo but, y'know, whatever."  
  
"So you think I should pick Puck?"  
  
"I don't know. Cause to be honest with ya, kid, when I would think about you...ending up with a guy-" Kurt smiled faintly at how much his dad's face twisted when he said that, like he was trying to get through the conversation without picturing the fact that his son was having gay sex. "-he was guy more like Blaine, y'know, like you. With the fashion magazines and the hair and...musicals."  
  
"So I should pick Blaine?"  
  
"I'm not the one dating them, Kurt, that's gotta be up to you. All I can do is tell you to try to figure out how you're gonna be the most happy. Whatever that means."  
  
It meant he was back at square one. Some help that had been.  
  
The doorbell rang and he walked quickly to the front door. When he pulled it open...to say that he was surprised would have been an understatement. "What are you doing here?" he asked, but he sounded more confused than judgmental...and he kind of couldn't keep the smile off his face.  
  
"Figured you had enough shit to do without cooking," Puck replied, a stack of four food containers in his arms. When Kurt just stared at him, mouth open slightly, he added, "Blaine helped. Got all these no-salt recipes and shit, I don't know if any of it'll taste any good but it seemed okay as we made it. The sauce on the lasagna thing's pretty good."  
  
"You brought food," Kurt said quietly, seeming almost awestruck for reasons Puck couldn't figure out. But the guy didn't look nearly as bad as he'd been worried about - kinda tired, but not depressed which was good.   
  
"Yeah. No cupcakes or anything - short notice...but if you want I can-"  
  
"No," Kurt replied with a soft smile. "No, it's fine. You wanna come in?"  
  
"Nah, just dropping it off. Gotta go pretend to show up for math class," he added with a smirk as he handed over the containers. Kurt leaned in to give him a soft, almost casual kiss - it felt all nice and  _normal_  instead of stressed like they had been, and that was good, Puck concluded.   
  
"I'll talk to you later?" Kurt asked.  
  
"Sure," Puck replied simply as he headed back to his car. Good; Kurt seemed like he was hanging in there. And he had food now.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Kurt wasn't sure why he expected there to be something different about when he went back to school. Maybe because, if everyone in New Directions knew, and half the Cheerios therefore knew, he figured that people might be halfway decent human beings and decide to dispense with this ridiculous contest.  
  
Who was he kidding? This was high school. Expecting even a modicum of civility was expecting too much. Of course the ribbons were still out, the posters still hanging - people had started tying ribbons to their bags and hanging signs on lockers for crying out loud. Couldn't Santana sleep with someone inappropriate in public again so the spotlight could be on someone other than him?  
  
He checked his phone for what felt like the thousandth time since he walked into school as he arrived at his locker, trying to ignore the myriad of ribbons that had been stuck to the door with an assortment of adhesives, the majority of which he assumed were improvised.   
  
"How's your dad?"  
  
He turned quickly to find Rachel standing beside him, notebooks clutched to her chest. "He's okay. Thank you." He hoped the next words out of her mouth wouldn't involve the words 'God' or "Barbra Streisand.'  
  
"Good. I asked Finn, but he's not very good with details so I wasn't sure." He had to smile faintly at that - it was true. "If you need the notes from history, I can lend them to you."  
  
He wasn't sure what was going on, but she was being uncharacteristically unselfish. Even as much as she'd been kind of growing into a real live human being with emotions like sympathy and compassion, he wasn't entirely sure he trusted an open offer like that. Especially since they hadn't really spoken since he'd come back to McKinley except in passing thanks to their circle of shared friends. "That would be great, thank you." She didn't leave, just kept looking at him. "Yes?"  
  
"Are you okay?" she asked gently.  
  
"Perfect," he replied breezily with a barely-concealed roll of his eyes.   
  
"I can't believe this whole campaign. I mean, I knew Blaine was trying to impress you with the number in the gym, and I'll admit - the Warblers are very talented, and he has great stage presence. I'm looking forward to singing with him at Regionals; unless, of course, you wanted to-"  
  
"Don't go there."  
  
She moved on without comment. "I know Finn is firmly behind Puck in all of this, and Mercedes and Tina are rooting for Blaine, and everyone's choosing sides, but I wanted to let you know that I'm on yours." She adjusted her books to rest in one arm as she lifted her hand to tap a white knot ribbon pinned near the collar of her sweater.  
  
"The white knot is for marriage, Rachel. I'm not marrying anyone - even if it were legal under Ohio law."  
  
"No, it's just the only one we had in the house. Left over from the rally in Columbus, my dads and I- anyway. Red is for Blaine, black is for Puck, and the white is for you."  
  
"What does that even mean?"  
  
"That I want you to pick whatever will make you most happy. Whether that's Blaine, or Puck, or neither of them, or someone else entirely...I just want you to find someone who makes you feel as special as you know you are. As we all know you are."  
  
It had been the kind of week that left him struggling to bite his tongue, to repress the snarky-yet-true comments about the fact that they never seemed to think he was all that special when he was trying for solos, but he tried to appreciate that she was attempting to be nice. "Thank you," he said quietly. At the very least, it was nice to have at least one person who wasn't taking a side.  
  
"I know if people had started showing up in Team Finn or Team Jesse shirts, I would have felt horrible - after the initial joy of being in the spotlight faded, of course." She flashed a smile. "But I've been passing out a few of these already, and I'm getting more at Joelle Fabrics this afternoon - you'll see. We'll have a bunch of people on Team Kurt by tomorrow morning."  
  
Her enthusiasm and sincerity were endearing enough that he could return the smile, even as tired as he was. "Thanks, Rachel."  
  
The warning bell rang and she started off down the hall, then raised her first in the air and declared "Team Kurt!" It was the first time he'd laughed all week, and he couldn't begin to describe how good it felt.  



	6. Chapter 6

He still didn't get it.  
  
The choir room was totally more red than black, especially now that Artie and Mike and Sam had joined Rachel in the whole 'white for Kurt' thing that he didn't really understand because either way Kurt kinda won, but that wasn't the point. Mercedes had red  _and_  white, which had caused its own confrontation from Rachel about how the entire point of 'Team Kurt' - seriously, were they in fucking Twilight now? - was that they weren't choosing any side because that was only making him more miserable.  
  
(And if they were in Twilight, he would totally be the wolf guy. For one thing, the dude had abs and was kind of badass, would like try to rip out people's throats and stuff. For another, the vampire wasn't the one getting MILFs who wanted him to sign their panties, and he did interviews where he talked about how gross vag was. And Puckzilla didn't fucking sparkle.)  
  
When had Rachel become the chick who was most into helping Kurt in this, anyway? Last he knew the two of them weren't even speaking because she'd claimed he was a spy and gotten Mr. Schue thinking the whole scholarship thing wasn't kosher. He wondered if Kurt knew the part about her being his main cheerleader or if that was gonna be a cagematch in the making. Probably not, Kurt had the honour thing and couldn't hit a girl, which was kinda a shame only because watching him smack down Santana would be fucking hot.  
  
But most of them - especially the girls - were still fawning over Blaine.  
  
"What the fuck's their thing with him?" he grumbled, slouching in the chair, arms crossed over his chest. "Okay, fine - the dude's really gay and he's not a total douchebag, but that doesn't mean he should get the guy in the end. Who here knows Kurt doesn't eat when he's upset? 'Cause he didn't. Everyone knows that except him."  
  
"Gee," Quinn said sarcastically. "If only someone could point that out to Kurt, along with the fact that he loves him and only wants to be with him."  
  
Puck shot her a dirty look, then rolled his eyes as he settled back in his chair. "Are they seriously playing with his hair? That's fucking gay. And I mean it that way, too."  
  
"You do kinda scare people, dude," Finn pointed out, not unkindly. "They're not gonna touch the mohawk."  
  
"Not and live," Puck snorted. "But is that what this shit's gonna come down to? Someone who lets Kurt use hair product on him?"  
  
Rachel appeared on their side of the room kind of out of nowhere. "I think we all know Kurt's not that shallow."  
  
This coming from the girl who thought Kurt spied and threw away his one shot at a decent school where he could be safe, in order to promote the singing career of Ms. Rachel Berry. Right. "Is that why it's coming down to his love of Vogue and prissy musicals?" Puck asked bitterly. "So he's attracted to dudes all the time and I'm into chicks except for Kurt. That's not what matters, right? It's not like that makes a person a decent guy or whatever."  
  
"I think it's because he lays everything on the line in public - in song, no less," Rachel replied.   
  
"In a way that made Kurt completely uncomfortable," Quinn pointed out. "You don't mess with anything with the Cheerios. Sue let him on the squad, but if she'd been in a slightly different mood she would have skinned Kurt alive and used his scalp to make scrunchies for the JV squad."  
  
While the two of them continued to debate the merits of the whole 'Misery' debacle, Puck was busy thinking. Because that was part of what Kurt liked about Blaine - he knew that part. The way Blaine was all open and shit, put it all out there. It was the kind of thing Kurt was into, being who you were for all the world to see. He dug that, it took guts, especially the way Kurt had always gotten shit for it. Walls or no walls.  
  
Maybe Quinn had been right the whole time. He needed to let Kurt know how he felt, but he didn't think the whole talking thing was gonna work for him. For one thing, he just wasn't good at it. For another, Kurt wasn't gonna sit and listen, he was going to jump in and interrupt and they'd end up just fighting. Kurt had been ready to read him the fucking riot act for  _not_  sleeping with Santana the other day- seriously. Who bitched about something like that? Wasn't that supposed to be a good thing? What he freaking wanted?  
  
So sitting there and talking like some big sitcom or movie of the week wasn't gonna work for them. For one thing, they had a tendency to get defensive and jerkish - both of them did. So he needed to come up with some other way of doing this if he really was going to put it all out there.   
  
He wasn't about to admit it to anyone, but he had no fucking idea what he was doing. He had kind of only tried this with Quinn before, and Kurt that one time.  
  
But he just might have an idea.  
  
* * * * *  
  
He was in the library when Rachel and Mercedes came over. Rachel sat across from him, Mercedes beside him, and when he looked up they were wearing twin conspiring grins that made him feel instantly uneasy. Nothing good could come from the two of them plotting, especially not when they looked that pleased with themselves. "Hello," he said guardedly, eyeing them with suspicion.  
  
"You're coming with us," Mercedes declared.  
  
"Where?" His eyes narrowed.  
  
"C'mon," she urged, standing and waiting expectantly for him to do the same.   
  
Kurt slid his books into his brown leather satchel and stood. "What's going on?"  
  
"Nothing," they replied in unison.  
  
All it took was a quirk of his eyebrow in extreme skepticism, a full on "Right, like I'm buying that bullshit" look, for Rachel to reply, "We have a surprise for you."  
  
He allowed them to each take an arm and lead him out of the library and downstairs. "Should I be closing my eyes?" he asked dryly.  
  
"No - did I tell you to close your eyes?" Mercedes asked.  
  
"Good - as much as I love you, I don't know that I trust the two of you trying to lead me somewhere at the same time. Or ever."  
  
The outdoor quad area was about half-full; the weather was chilly enough to have some people eating inside or hanging out elsewhere, but it was beginning to feel springlike enough that people were venturing outdoors for a few breaths of brisk fresh air. Kurt tried unsuccessfully to pull his arms free long enough to zip his jacket a little higher at the neck. "In a second - we're almost there," Rachel assured him.   
  
"Where are we going?" he asked. While the quad was located in a fairly central, accessible location, it wasn't the kind of place people cut across on their way to somewhere else.   
  
"Right here," Mercedes replied as they led him to an empty table near the steps. Completely empty, which was strange - until he saw the little sign on the tabletop that read  **Reserved for Artists**. He was surprised it hadn't been vandalized - someone had probably been guarding it or something.  
  
Which meant he had even less of an idea what was going on.  
  
Rachel pressed him gently onto the center stool. "You wait here," she instructed.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You'll see," Mercedes grinned. "We'll be back."  
  
They both started to walk off but Rachel turned back and leaned in to add quietly, "Just so you know - we tried to get him to wear leather pants, but he refused." His eyes widened and he wanted to ask what the fuck she could possibly be talking about - or who he was meant to be seeing in leather pants.   
  
Or  _why_  he was meant to be seeing anyone in leather pants. Not that he would complain about a few of the options, but he doubted anyone else would have quite the same attitude to pull them off well the way he could. He hadn't actually attempted them yet, but that was only because he couldn't find the pair he'd been coveting from the McQueensbury Rules collection (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) anywhere.  
  
Left alone as his two friends scampered off excitedly, he crossed his legs and waited stiffly for whatever reason they had brought him out here to...appear somehow. People were milling around, talking amongst themselves, a couple guys were tossing a frisbee around and almost ran into-  
  
...Why was the drum kit out here? How had they gotten it out here? And oh dear god,  _why_?  
  
He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what Blaine had up his sleeve this time. Or how precisely Rachel thought she was being neutral when she was helping this kind of thing. He wasn't entirely surprised Mercedes was in on it, given her enthusiastic support for Blaine as the boyfriend-of-choice, but it was still frustrating as hell. He didn't want more contests. He didn't want giant show numbers to try to get the entire student body on someone's side. He wanted to not have to make the choice, and if that wasn't an option then he wanted people to either leave him alone or have an honest conversation about what would need to change if he indeed did pick them as his boyfriend.  
  
It wasn't as though either of the relationships were perfect, after all.  
  
Finn milled around, trying to look inconspicuous. That in itself was conspicuous - his stepbrother was kind of hard not to notice. It was the height thing, and his general awkwardness, and the way that at least fifty freshmen girls watched him wherever he went because he was the quarterback and they found his stupidity charming. He could see Tina and Mike over in one corner, which wasn't odd, but they were standing with Artie and kind of glancing around like they were waiting for a cue of some kind. Then there was Brittany, who just stood in the center of the stairs looking vaguely lost. She kept looking over towards the foot of the stairwell, then towards the top of the large wall of steps, glancing back and forth and waiting with confusion.  
  
They were all wearing leather jackets. Different styles, but every member of New Directions that he could see was wearing some kind of black leather outer layer. (On a side note: Ask Tina where she got hers and if they made a slightly less cinched-in version because it was exquisite.)   
  
Following Brittany's gaze, he saw Sam standing below the caged-in stairwell with his guitar. He started to [play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X1Fqn9du7xo), but Kurt swore he heard a second guitar coming from somewhere else - the place Brittany was looking at the top of the giant staircase, maybe? He couldn't see what was up there, not from this angle.  
  
Then suddenly he  _appeared._  Puck came over the crest of the wide stairs, right at the center, guitar in-hand. He was clad in black boots, a black shirt, black leather jacket, and the pair of jeans that Kurt had always liked best because they managed to give some definition to Puck's very nice ass instead of looking like they were just hanging there. Descending the steps slowly, deliberately, he began to sing.  
  
 _Hey  
Slow it down  
What do you want from me?  
What do you want from me?_  
  
Oh dear god. The entire school staring at him in the gym was bad enough, but he had a feeling that if anything would be able to bring back the fear that his gayness was contagious enough to be a threat to the straight population as a whole, it was the fact that he had the school's resident badass serenading him with Adam Lambert.  
  
But at the same time...Puck was serenading him with Adam Lambert. Puck, who until six months ago - okay, really more like four - had used 'gay' as an all-purpose insult pretty much five times a day. Puck, who had a general hatred of American Idol so deep he couldn't even be coerced into sitting and watching the trainwreck that was the first round of auditions, much to Kurt's chagrin when he had tried. (He had assumed that Puck, of all people, would appreciate the schadenfreude. He had been wrong.)   
  
Puck, whose distance had started to feel icy cold weeks ago and was suddenly ramping up his game again. The way he was at the hospital, the food the day after, and now this.  
  
He wasn't sure whether to be mortified or moved. Especially because there was a part of him that felt like maybe this was another attempt to one-up Blaine. After all, it wasn't as though they hadn't been doing that for weeks already. One of them would do something, the other would either do it better or do what he thought was a better version of it, and so on and so forth until Blaine had bested Puck at pretty much everything except sex (not that Kurt was complaining about either of them). So now, less than a week after Blaine's guerrilla-choir attack, Puck was wrangling New Directions into doing the same thing but with instruments? With Finn banging away on the drums in the center of the staircase and Sam backing him up on guitar and the rest of New Directions clearly waiting in the wings to join in at some point?  
  
 _Yeah,  
I'm afraid  
What do you want from me?  
What do you want from me?_  
  
Puck got himself through the first verse before he bothered to look at Kurt. His confidence had been slipping lately - thanks in no small part to gay assholes who swooped in and took his guitar-playing clout and his boyfriend all at once - but he knew he was still a rockstar. He just needed to hear the crowd a little first.  
  
Unfortunately for him, they were still at McKinley and his performance was holding only a minimal amount of attention. That wasn't entirely true, it got more attention than it would have a few weeks ago before the whole 'Team Blaine' thing started. People knew what he was trying to do with this. People got what this was.  
  
In a way it was kind of invigorating - the people who were paying attention were totally into it, the girls had this 'awww' look like he was the best boyfriend ever (damn right he could be) for declaring his love this way, and it was kinda like the energy at Regionals when they got the crowd into what they were doing and jamming along with them. A feeling like the crowd was rooting for you so hard - it was awesome. But at the same time...  
  
If he failed, every single fucking person in that school would know. Even freaking losers wouldn't want anything to do with him - he'd be total human garbage.  
  
It was freaking terrifying.  
  
It would be worth it, he reminded himself. If he did it right, if it worked, if he got Kurt...it'd be worth it. And this was probably the only shot he had - it was his last chance to step up and be a man about it instead of just sinking into the background.  
  
Breaking up with him would've been a lot easier.  
  
 _There might have been a time when I would give myself away  
Oh once upon a time I didn't give a damn  
But now  
Here we are  
So what do you want from me?  
What do you want from me?_  
  
Something about the way Puck sang that line every time just...it was doing things to him. It was this weird combination of frustrated and defeated, like he knew this wasn't going to get him anywhere but he was trying it anyway.  
  
Kurt hated that tone. He hated the look that went with it, the kind of half-shrug and roll of his eyes. He'd seen Puck do it with Quinn when she was pregnant a lot - essentially saying 'You're just gonna bitch me out anyway, why are you even asking me?' He hated that he was responsible for it this time. He hated that somehow he'd done this to a guy he loved, a guy who was...completely imperfect but still amazing.  
  
He'd done it to two amazing guys. His selfishness, his inability to choose, his reluctance to be in any more pain and his obsessive love of feeling special like he did when the two of them were both trying to woo him...this was the flip side. This was what it really meant. It meant Puck feeling like nothing he did was good enough. It meant Blaine feeling like he should be ashamed of being who he was because it wasn't Puck.  
  
What had he done? What the hell was wrong with him?  
  
As the chorus began, New Directions swarmed the makeshift stage area, starting to sing and dance along with the song. It was everyone - well, everyone except Blaine. Ribbons were off or hidden or under jackets (he could see just the hint of Mercedes' red one under her coat) and they were supporting the guy who had been their teammate for a year and a half now. The guy who had given up his favourite pastime - torturing losers - once he was part of the team because that was the kind of guy he was. Once you were in Puck's circle, you were in; you were good.   
  
He was nothing if not loyal. People forgot that about him. Kurt had forgotten that.  
  
 _Just don't give up  
I'm working it out  
Please don't give in  
I won't let you down_  
  
He wondered how much of the song selection was for demographics - Rachel kept helpfully mouthing "gay! jew!" in a way so overexaggerated that Stevie Wonder could probably see it - and how much was for the lyrics. After all, Blaine's 'Misery' turn hadn't been the best lyrical expression of how he felt, other than...well, the 'Misery' part. It was mostly about how the singer wanted to be left alone. Sort of.  
  
He didn't know why he even compared the two., he realized suddenly. The only thing they had in common was that they were both serenades aimed at him.  
  
For Blaine, singing was about performance, about getting to be as wild and crazy and out-there as he wanted, about expressing the part of himself that was hidden for a long time beneath a uniform and plastered-on smile. It was about letting loose, letting go - and there was nothing wrong with that.  
  
But it was different for Puck. For Puck, music was the only form of honest communication he knew. It was the only way he had ever been able to express things he thought or felt or wanted. It was about using Kiss to tell Quinn he wanted to still be part of Beth's life, about using Meat Loaf to tell Kurt he was sorry even if he couldn't sing all the words.  
  
The difference between the two was the difference between Bad Romance and Rose's Turn. Not that there was anything wrong with either one of them, but they would never be the same. And somehow it made this, made Puck's song, seem all the more...important.  
  
 _It messed me up  
Need a second to breathe  
Just keep coming around  
Hey, what do you want from me?  
What do you want from me?  
What do you want from me?_  
  
He'd forgotten how charming Puck was when he sang.  
  
He was looking more confident now, like he'd gotten over whatever initial concerns about doing something this big and personal in front of the entire school, with a kind of grin as he and Sam strummed along and harmonized on the bridge.  
  
 _Yeah, there might have been a time when I would let you slip away  
I wouldn't even try but I think you could save my life_  
  
It was the first time Puck had looked directly at him the whole time, and he swallowed hard. That felt loaded. It felt like somehow Puck was trying to say something about how he was a better person with Kurt, but at the same time not quite. Not that Kurt doubted it - the guy standing in front of him now was so different from who he'd been six months ago, but at the same time...at the same time there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that this might be as far as Puck was ready to go. He'd grown but not enough. He was better but still not right. He still wouldn't talk about anything, he still wouldn't admit to wanting anything even when Kurt practically cornered him and tried to lead him through to the end of the conversation. He still didn't understand 99% of things Kurt liked or cared about or even why they were important to him. For all this was amazing, it was still the only honest moment they'd had outside of a bedroom since...probably since the Meat Loaf song three months ago.  
  
Music and touch, that was Puck's language. But at some point they were going to have to be able to have more than that, and he honestly wasn't sure if Puck was capable - or, for that matter, if it was fair to force him to be. Why should he be in the business of changing people?   
  
 _Just don't give up  
I'm working it out  
Please don't give in  
I won't let you down  
It messed me up  
Need a second to breathe  
Just keep coming around  
Hey, what do you want from me? (What do you want from me?)  
What do you want from me?  
What do you want from me?(What do you want from me?)_  
  
As Sam echoed the lyrics and the rest of the group faded to ooo's that sounded fantastic, Puck began to descend the stairs again, moving from the landing where they had been performing the bulk of the number down to the main deck of the cafeteria and directly for Kurt. He met Kurt's eyes and held them in an intense prolonged moment of contact.  
  
 _Just don't give up on me_  
  
He was trainable. He could learn, y'know, if Kurt wanted. Maybe he could even learn to like Sound of Music or not hating stupid costumes and shit. Some of the stuff Kurt wore wasn't so bad, really, he even kind of almost liked a few of the pairs of boots - not the stupid knee-high ones, but the combat boots with studs looked kinda badass. He could totally try to get into stuff Kurt liked if that was what it took.  
  
 _I won't let you down_  
  
He was so close now that Kurt could've touched him if he reached out, but the guy was kind of frozen in place, looking wide-eyed and a little overwhelmed, but not in the totally embarrassed way he had before. He was into it now, at least Puck thought so, and he wasn't looking away.  
  
The rest of the music dropped away, and it was just him and his guitar and Kurt, less than a couple feet from each other, eyes locked as he sang in barely more than a pleading whisper,  
  
 _No, I won't let you down_  
  
He broke away from the moment, leaving Kurt nearly breathless.  
  
 _It's over  
Just don't give up  
I'm working it out  
Please don't give in  
I won't let you down  
It messed me up  
Need a second to breathe  
Just keep coming around  
Hey, what do you want from me?_  
  
Kurt watched the scene before him, more than a little speechless. Mercedes was wailing on killer notes on her 'What do you want from me's. Brittany and Santana and Mike and Tina were doing some kind of cool dance on and around the railings while Rachel practically skipped through the crowd - it was the first time Kurt had seen her not unhappy to be singing backup. Quinn had this proud look on her face, like she had never seen Puck step up so much - and he understood why.   
  
Glancing around, he was surprised to see the crowd actually paying attention. He remembered too well the roar of silence after they finished Empire State of Mind in the fall - apparently rivalries made for increased social standing even more than he realized. Maybe they were all just watching for his reaction. He didn't actually know - or know that he cared.   
  
He saw Blaine standing at the top of the stairs, watching stiffly. He glanced down at Kurt for all of a second, gave a little resigned nod, and turned to walk away. He wasn't sure what any of that meant anymore.  
  
 _Just don't give up_  
I'm working it out  
Please don't give in  
I won't let you down  
It messed me up  
Need a second to breathe  
Just keep coming around  
Hey, what do you want from me? (What do you want from me?)  
What do you want from me? (What do you want from me?)  
What do you want from me? (What do you want from me?)  
  
For the first time in the history of New Directions, there was applause from the student body at the end of their performance, but Puck was already striding off the makeshift stage, slinging his guitar up onto his back as he walked towards Kurt. The guy was still perched in his chair, wide-eyed, looking half impressed and half confused, as though he liked the number but didn't know what that meant. Or maybe he was just torn, trying to weigh the different musical numbers on their technical merit or something - the dude was like the Simon Cowell of boyfriends.  
  
Maybe this had been a bad idea, making Kurt feel like he had to pick based on the song he liked better or something. And Blaine had embarrassed him pretty badly with the whole thing, maybe this wasn't much better. Obviously it wasn't as bad because Coach Sylvester wasn't involved, but maybe he'd screwed this thing up after all.  
  
"Puck, that was..." Kurt trailed off, and Puck knew he'd been on the wrong track - Kurt was never speechless. The guy almost always sounded rehearsed and totally together.  
  
He got it. He'd tried, he'd gotten it wrong, now Kurt was uncomfortable and trying to avoid yelling at him or something. He wasn't sure why, since he knew Blaine had gotten an earful, but maybe it was...out of thanks for the food or something. He had no idea. But he wasn't going to make it any harder.  
  
"Look," he said quietly. "I want to be with you-" The words burned as they clawed his way out of his throat, but he managed to keep his voice even and normal anyway. "But do what you've gotta do." He drew in a deep breath and, with as much dignity as he could muster, walked off across the quad.  
  
Everything he had was out on the table. He was still going to lose, but at least he'd put it out there.


	7. Chapter 7

He had to choose.  
  
There were no two ways about it anymore - he understood how miserable it was making both Puck and Blaine to be waiting in limbo like this, and he couldn't blame them.  He felt like he was stretching in the middle of some horrible taffy pull, constantly being yanked in one direction then in another, changing course so quickly he felt perpetually off-balance.  He couldn't concentrate, he couldn't pay attention in class - not that it mattered much, McKinley's courses weren't exactly challenging, but it wasn't a problem he'd ever really had except when the bullying got so bad he couldn't take it anymore.    
  
But Cheerios was his breaking point.  If he wasn't staring at Blaine in the uniform - which did fit him very nicely, Kurt noticed with approval - then he was listening to his voice and how well they blended together and wondering if that was supposed to be some kind of sign that they were meant for each other where he and Puck weren't.  He was staring out at Brittany's bag with the ribbons still in a long row but noting that the row hadn't grown any longer over the course of the week, whereas a month ago Puck's first stop when feeling depressed and as borderline-worthless as this whole contest seemed to be making him feel would have been the bed of at least one Cheerio; maybe that meant Puck was willing to giver up more to have him than Blaine was.  Though if Blaine had given up Dalton for him - which he had - did that count more or less than Santana, especially considering that Blaine was at least willing to  _tell_  him he had given up Dalton as opposed to Puck who just kind of let that information slip through the cracks?  
  
How was he supposed to weigh any of this?  Were there pro-con lists for something like choosing a boyfriend?  A checklist?  How did the fact that Blaine had all the same taste in musicals stack up against Puck bringing him food when his dad was sick?  And if Blaine helped with it, which Puck said he did, then did Blaine get partial points for that, too?    
  
He forgot the words to 'Circus' in the middle of practice.  Got to the first line of his verse - "There's only two types of guys out there-"  And his mind just...went blank.  
  
Everything went silent.  He could feel Ms. Sylvester's glare on him, could see Blaine in his peripheral vision looking at him with puppydog worried eyes, could almost sense Santana smirking behind him.  It felt like he couldn't breathe, like everything was just moving in tighter, like there was no possible way he could move without knocking something over-  
  
With the deepest breath he could manage, he mumbled his apology and promise that it wouldn't happen again.  His mind was racing too quickly to hear the inevitable insulting retort that followed.  
  
What the hell was he supposed to do?  How was he supposed to choose? Was he supposed to...forget everything he and Puck had long before he ever met Blaine?  Ignore everything he and Blaine shared now?  Disavow everything that  _both_  of them had done for him?    
  
Forget how each of them made him feel?  Just give that part up?  Give up the way Blaine looked at him like he was the hottest guy he'd ever seen?  Give up the way Puck would just...stare at him sometimes, like he didn't know how he'd ended up there but he wanted to stay?    
  
He barely noticed as practice ended, which was never a good sign.  Blaine seemed to have the good sense not to try to come ask if he was okay - what a ridiculous question that would be.  As he mechanically made his way toward his things, he felt a slim hand on his shoulder and turned to see Quinn standing beside him.  "Are you okay?"  
  
It was just as ridiculous a question coming from her.  "Best week ever," he replied dryly as he hoisted his bag onto his shoulder.  
  
"Are you doing anything right now?"  
  
"Going home to make more lists," he stated, an annoyed smile playing at the edges of his lips.  
  
"Come on - we're getting coffee."  
  
"Quinn-"  
  
"You need to get out of your head for a few minutes.  I'm buying you coffee.  You can talk about it if you want, or we can talk about how ridiculous Erica's new weave looks.  Either way, you're coming with me."  He wasn't used to her switching from compassionate to head-bitch-in-charge so quickly while in uniform the entire time, and it gave her all the opportunity she needed to lead him out of the gym.  
  
By the time they had walked the two streets over to the Lima Bean, he felt a little more human again - at least enough to keep things together and project a more collected front.  But as they sat down and it occurred to him that he was going to have to speak, to be able to either talk about the perils of lists and the inadequacy thereof or somehow focus enough on some other topic to talk about that instead, he said simply, "I know which side you're on, so if you wanted to get me alone to try and plead his case, please save us both the time."  
  
His tone was colder than he meant it to be, and Quinn sat up a little straighter as she sipped her coffee.  "Wow."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You really must be getting it from all sides to be that bitchy before I even say anything."  
  
He closed his eyes and mumbled 'sorry' on an exhale before taking a sip of his nonfat mocha.  Blaine knew his coffee order; he was fairly certain Puck didn't.  Did that go in the Blaine column, then, along with the fact that he wouldn't have to explain to Blaine why he was upset when they got shoved to a table in the back of a restaurant because Blaine would get it and be angry right along with him?  Did Blaine get extra points because their date didn't suck nearly as much as the one he'd had with Puck, or did he lose points because it was no different than when they hung out as friends?  Puck told him about going to see Beth, did that get points?  Did it get half points because then he clammed up about it?  
  
"Trust me, there is no one else on this planet who is a better posterchild for why a person shouldn't date Puck no matter how much they love him," she said pointedly.  "I'm not here to tell you to pick one or the other, but you look like your head's about to explode.  You need to be able to talk to someone, and I think Mercedes is probably off the table if you're going for neutral."  Kurt smiled faintly and nodded.  "Is there a deadline?"  
  
"No."  He stared sideways in the direction of the window, hand clenching just a little around the cup.  "But it's time.  It's not fair to keep them waiting."  
  
"Let everyone move on."  
  
"Right," he replied quietly.  There was silence for a moment before he said, "It was never supposed to end up this way.  This is exactly what I was trying to avoid."  
  
"I know," she replied simply.  "But it's making them both miserable."  
  
"What about making me miserable?" he demanded suddenly.  "I-  I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't focus on anything, I can't remember the words to a song that I've had on repeat for at least six hours this week.  I feel like I'm at the center of everything but a part of  _nothing_.  It's supposed to be about fairness - how is that fair?  How does that make anyone happy?"  He just had to look at the look she was giving him, then sighed.  "I know," he said quietly.  "I know it's not fair and isn't going to be.  If I choose it's not fair to me, if I don't choose it's not fair to either one of them, I know that."  
  
"Sometimes every option sucks," she stated from experience.   
  
"And you pick the one that sucks the least?" he asked dryly.  
  
She shrugged.  "Kind of."  
  
He sighed and took another drink, then set his cup down hard with renewed anger.  "How am I supposed to even compare the two?  What I have with each of them?  Even if I just try to put it into one category at a time, compare apples to apples, it's still not even.  It's still not something I can-  Okay, take for example, willingness to be with me.  Puck puts on this incredible number and at the end of it comes up to me and says he wants to be with me, but that I should 'do what I have to do.'  As if I even know what that means.  But he won't actually say he's not going to sleep with Santana - or anyone else for that matter.  I asked him point blank if we should close the relationship, if he wanted to; he didn't answer, but when I tasked him this week if the two of them were still together, he gave me some noncommittal 'not really, we haven't in awhile' kind of answer.  Blaine, on the other hand, gave up his dream school and all his friends to keep me safe.  How can I compare those two?"  
  
In all the time Quinn had known him - and in all the contexts - she'd never heard Kurt speak for that long at a stretch.  She definitely didn't know he was capable of talking for that long without seeming to take a breath.    
  
She was hesitant to tell him what she knew - Puck had told her in confidence, and contrary to what Santana and a few other Cheerios might think, she didn't go spreading everyone else's business around school, but by the same token it was important.  To make an informed decision, he needed to know exactly how many ways Puck had grown and what he had done, what he had given up to try to help.  
  
Kurt sighed and took a sip, then added, "He tries.  I understand that.  But there are times I don't want to have to try.  With Blaine it's...it's  _easy._ "  His voice took on a plaintive tone.  "Like you and Sam."  
  
Quinn laughed softly.  "Just because it's easier than with Puck doesn't mean it's easy, you know.  We still fight, we still have to deal with things, there are still times we don't understand each other."  
  
"True," he allowed.  
  
They fell into silence as he traced small vertical lines on the cup with his thumb and stared at the beam behind her head.  "Even if I do," he began quietly.  "Choose Puck, that is.  I can't even guarantee the relationship will actually be closed."  
  
"I thought you said he wasn't sleeping with Santana."  
  
"He said he hasn't in awhile.  When I asked him if he wanted to close the relationship, he wouldn't answer.  So if I choose him, there's still a better than even chance that it's in exactly as unequal of a situation as it was before Blaine ever entered the picture."  
  
"So tell him that's your condition," Quinn suggested.  
  
"I can't.  It's not my rule to change.  I knew what I was getting into and I chose to accept the terms."  She just stared at him like it was the dumbest thing she'd ever heard.  Maybe it was - he didn't know anymore.  "And when he tells me no?  Then what?" he asked quietly, settling back in his chair with a kind of despondence.  There was no way Puck was going to agree to it.  He wasn't sleeping with Santana for now - not forever.  He was a sex shark, and at some point if there was a slump (which hadn't happened yet but might at some point), or if Puck was feeling 'too gay', or when summer came...  Kurt wasn't going to be that guy.  He wasn't going to be the Justin Taylor, the one who tried to come in and change who Puck was and what he wanted.  
  
Quinn was quiet for a moment, pensive, then ventured, "I think we let him get away with too much."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You remember last year before Sectionals, when I had you give Rachel the makeover?"  
  
"That I used as an excuse to take her from bad to worse in order to try to advance my hopeless crush on Finn," Kurt replied dryly, distant.  
  
She smiled faintly as she stared at her cup.  "You weren't the only one acting hopeless that week.  I had decided that I was going to give Puck a chance.  See if he would step up, be a decent potential father to our child.  So I took him to babysit for Mr. Schue's three completely crazy nephews, and he was...amazing.  He was so great with them; we were great together."  She smiled sadly at the memory.  "And the entire time he was sexting Santana."  
  
"Surprise," Kurt replied dryly, raising his cup in her direction as a mock toast, but he fully understood.  
  
She rolled her eyes at his toast and continued.  "When I confronted him about it, he didn't even try to deny it. I asked why he'd done it, and he gave me some crap answer about how he was a teenage boy and he had needs.  I was so hurt, I couldn't-...but now, looking back?"  She paused, then said, "Keeping in mind that this is with the benefit of a year's worth of hindsight and I could still be completely wrong?  I think he wanted me to tell him to grow a pair and be a man instead of a boy.  I think a part of him wanted me to put my foot down and tell him to cut that crap out instead of taking the easy road - because Santana is nothing if not the easy road," she couldn't help but swipe, and Kurt smirked.  "No one expects anything of him, we all just write him off because he doesn't rise to the occasion.  But when no one makes him do it and keeps saying, 'He's Puck, he won't do it'...and we all do it, it's not just you.  It's not just me - his mom does too, she talks about how he's just like his father which is shorthand in their house for 'you run from your responsibilities every chance you get.'  And the teachers and...everyone.  We just let him skulk around in the background instead of telling him to man the hell up already."  
  
"So I tell him to keep it in his pants-"  _or in me_  he added silently.  There were some lines of crassness that Puck had rubbed off on him that he wasn't going to inflict on Quinn.  "-and he does?  Somehow I doubt that."  
  
"I can't sit here and promise you he won't screw it up.  None of us can promise that - I certainly can't promise Sam I won't ever make a mistake like I did with Finn.  Hopefully not with the same result..."  she offered with a wry smile.  "You know what he's capable of when he tries, though.  You of all people have seen it."  
  
He did know.  Even when Puck got it wrong, there was something so...earnest about it when he tried.  The weird as hell soy ice cream thing he bought because he thought it would help after Kurt was kicked out of Dalton.  The big gesture at the football game, even if Blaine and Mercedes had needed to translate it for him.  The songs.  The fact that Puck did try the dating thing because he realized that it was something Kurt did kind of want.    
  
"I feel like it's holding him to a lower standard, writing him off anyway," he tried to explain.  "Blaine tries and gets things right, shouldn't that be better than trying and getting it wrong?"  
  
"Well, not always," Quinn pointed out with a roll of her eyes at the memory of the now-infamous pep rally.  "Look, I'm not trying to tell you to choose Puck.  Blaine seems like a great guy - he's nice to everyone, he's funny, he's smart, he's cute, he's gay, he's appealing on a number of levels.  If you want to date him instead, then by all means  _do_.  I'm sure he'd make a great boyfriend.  All I'm saying is that if you want to date Puck and you're hung up on being afraid that he's going to keep sleeping with Santana?  It's on you to tell him to step up, but I honestly think he will.  Especially if it means keeping you.  You have no idea some of the things he's done to try to keep you happy, he-...I can't even..."  
  
"Quinn?"  
  
She sighed and shook her head.  "I wasn't going to say anything.  He told me, and he trusts me.  But I feel like you need to know."  
  
"Know what?"  
  
"He brought Blaine here because of you."  
  
Kurt blinked.  "Of course he did, Blaine was only coming here because of me.  And Puck would never have met Blaine except for-"  
  
"No, I mean...he let Blaine stay with him because he was worried about you."  
  
"What do you  mean?"  
  
"He couldn't stay anywhere else because my mother was too worried about her ridiculous image and rehabilitating her superficial social circles," Quinn said with a roll of her eyes and clear disdain, "and that meant he would have to go somewhere else and you would be stuck here alone.  Not actually alone, but he thought you saw it that way.  I wasn't there, but the way he talked about it, he was  _really_  freaked.  So he let Blaine stay with him even though he knew it might mean you dating someone else."  
  
Kurt just stared at her.  He didn't know what the hell to say to that.  For one thing, if Puck was so worried about him, why hadn't he said anything?  For another, what precisely was he scared of?  He was miserable, he wasn't disappearing or stockpiling munitions or taking a knife to his wrists.  What was Puck so worried about?  
  
And there was a second question with a little more immediate of a problem.  "Assuming I choose Puck.  What happens to Blaine then?  I doubt he's going to be comfortable staying at Puck's, but if he leaves, I..."  
  
If he left, he what?  If Blaine left, Kurt lost even the possibility of a friendship with him?  He went back to being the saddest kid in town despite having a great boyfriend?  After all, as much as being with Puck had started his process of opening up, of feeling like there was something in his life other than at-times insufferable responsibility and a barrage of gorillas waiting to slam him around, it wasn't until he'd met Blaine that he felt really understood, started to feel like there really wasn't anything wrong with him at all.    
  
Was that better or worse than the idea of losing Puck entirely from his life?  He felt sick either way.  
  
"Don't worry about that," she instructed him.  "I'll take care of that if it's an issue.  But you can't pick either one of them out of obligation or feeling like something won't be okay if you choose the other one.  That's no way to decide."  
  
Kurt wasn't sure he had any better idea how to decide, regardless of how many ways Quinn kept telling him how  _not_ to decide.  But he did foresee a long night of list-making ahead of him, followed by a long er night delivering the news.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Puck had been lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to think about the empty expanse of evening ahead of him for so long that the long empty evening had largely passed by unnoticed.  He tried at one point to grab his guitar, play something to take his mind off it all, but when his fingers started naturally plucking out the opening to 'Sound of Silence' he set the instrument down so quickly that he was vaguely afraid he had broken something.    
  
He knew it was coming.  He kept waiting for Kurt to walk into his room and thank him for being a nice first boyfriend and go back to the next room over so he could get on with his life with the new boyfriend.  Of all the times that shoving the two of them into the same house had been some kind of cruel joke - okay, fine, something he'd brought entirely on himself because he knew he didn't  _have_  to say yes, and he didn't  _have_  to lie to cover the guy's ass when his mom found out, and he didn't  _have_  to do any of it, except for the part where he did.  
  
He half-expected word to come via the sound of moaning through the walls.  At this point he could pick the sounds Kurt made during sex out of just about anywhere, and even though his headphones were within easy reach, he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to force himself to reach for them quickly enough.  
  
He should have known better than to get involved in any of this.    
  
Kurt had been right, he concluded dully, when they were standing out in the front yard at Sam's, when his mind was still reeling from the kind of forced intervention as their friends tried to shove them back together.  He ran from shit.  He didn't get into relationships because he knew they wouldn't work out and then it would hurt.  He kept his expectations low so he didn't expect anything more.  He and Santana got naked together because they could, because it was fun, because no one else at school seemed to want sex as much as the two of them did...and because it was easy.  They both knew they were standins for other people and that was fine.  When she stopped coming to see him in protest, he didn't really give a shit.  
  
When Kurt stopped coming to see him...because decent guys who are dating gentlemen don't go back to fuck their exboyfriends unless they're trying to prove a point or break up without breaking up...  When that happened, that would fucking suck.  It would  _hurt_  for reasons having nothing to do with blueballs and his newly-found love of a smooth ass.    
  
Maybe if he went over there...told Kurt that he'd been right three months ago, did that talking shit Quinn kept on him about, put it all out on the table...  
  
No, he concluded slowly.  It was too late for that.    
  
Sometimes people just left and there was nothing you could do about it.  
  
It was almost 11 when the door creaked open slowly.  "Puck."  His head jerked towards the source of the sad, exhausted whisper.  Kurt stood just inside the threshold, eyes red and watery, cheeks and nose pink, lips thin and spread.  He'd been crying, that much was obvious - and not crying a little, judging from how his shoulders slumped and he kind of shied towards the wall.  He looked like he'd been sobbing for hours.  
  
Puck felt like he should have heard something, but he hadn't.  "Hey," he grunted softly in response.  It took everything in him to not open his arms in invitation, or go start kissing him hard enough to make the guy forget to be devastatingly sad like that, or do something -  _anything_  - to get him to stop crying.  
  
That wasn't his job now, he told himself.  Kurt had Blaine for that now.  The guy had certainly protected him often enough, stood up for him...he'd know to try to keep Kurt happy, and he probably had a better idea of how to cheer Kurt up when he needed it anyway, right?  After all, that was part of their problem - all the two of them had in common was sex, and everything else...all the shopping and the fashion and the musicals and stuff, that was all Blaine.  Blaine would-...he'd look out for Kurt.  
  
He could do this, he told himself.  He could learn to recognize that someone else could be good for Kurt.  Look at how much he'd gotten to be able to support Sam and Quinn, right?  Sam treated her well, he looked at her like he wanted to give her the freaking world, he made her smile...all those were things she needed that she never would've gotten if she'd dated him.  Maybe in six months he'd be able to see all of this the same way.  
  
Besides.  Six months from now would be summer, there'd be plenty of pools to clean, housewives to service, Santana and Brittany wouldn't be at cheercamp yet so there'd be that.  There'd be plenty to distract him.  
  
"I don't know why I'm here," Kurt whispered.  His voice was rough, higher than usual, kind of tight like he couldn't quite clear it enough to get words out without squeaking a little.  Puck didn't know what to say in response to that.  "Every list I made, every scenario I ran through, every chart and comparison I could make, he came out on top, but I couldn't-...Puck, I  _can't_ -"  
  
Of course Blaine had won.  Anyone who had ever seen the two of them side by side knew that was the conclusion.  But something about Kurt saying it made Puck feel like someone had reached into his chest and started squeezing vital organs too tightly.  He managed a weak nod and went back to staring at the ceiling.  "S'okay.  I get it."  When Kurt didn't leave, he added a short, "I don't do goodbyes."  If Kurt was standing there, trying to find something to say that would make all of this feel fine...he'd be standing there a very long time because there was nothing that would make this stop stinging.  Not yet.    
  
"That's not what this is," Kurt replied.  
  
"What is it then?" Puck asked, his voice hardening as he tried to keep himself from caring.  Only punks cried at shit like this.  Stupid fucking lame-ass eight-year-old punks cried when someone left; he was a man now.  "A 'see ya later'?" he added bitterly.  
  
"No," Kurt whispered.  "No more cliches, Puck, please - I can't do any more of them tonight."  
  
His last conversation had been fraught with them - starting with 'it's not you, it's me', which was true but not comforting.  And despite their mutual assertions, Kurt knew it wouldn't be easy to stay friends even though he wanted it - desperately  _needed_  it - more than he could possibly express.  Each one of them made his chest ache more as he watched Blaine trying to stay pulled-together and not start looking like his heart was breaking.  
  
Meanwhile he blubbered in every possible conversation.  Way to look like a jerk, he kept reminding himself; he was the guy who won no matter what, right?  He wasn't the one ending up alone regardless.  
  
But it wasn't that simple.  It was achingly, twistedly complicated, and he genuinely loved them both even though he knew he shouldn't.  And he hadn't been lying when he'd told Puck he had no idea why he was here, why he'd chosen the guy who was wrong for him in every conceivable way but somehow exactly right when it was all put together.  
  
"I just had to break the heart of the world's most perfect guy, can we please not do this?"  Puck's eyes widened as he turned to stare at Kurt again.  Past tense? He wasn't doing that now? Well, no, because he said something about perfect and no one in the universe would call Puck  _that_.  Badass, jerk, fuckup, sex god, delinquent, some permutation of those terms he could understand.  Perfect was for guys like-  
  
...he'd broken up with Blaine?  
  
He didn't understand.  The guy was fucking everything Kurt wanted in a boyfriend and he-  
  
Maybe it was one of those things where Kurt was going to break up with both of them now.  Like that dude on the Bachelor who got all that hate mail because he chose neither girl (Though for the record, he would like it known that he only knew about any of that because Mercedes and Tina had an entire conversation about it the one day before rehearsal started, and as much as he tried to get away from it, they're freaking loud).    
  
Kurt stood awkwardly in the space where the desk had been, back before Blaine's air mattress had been there, where now it was just a patch of darker carpet with nothing on it.  "I know in the movies this would be the time where we'd run across the field into each other's arms to joyous strains of violin music, but it's-...it's been a long night.  Can we just..."  
  
Puck shifted slowly on the bed, staring at him.  Each thing Kurt said made less sense than the last.  He sounded like he was too tired to break up, but then would say things that made it sound like they were together?  That didn't make any fucking sense.  "Are you breaking up with me or what?"  
  
Kurt's eyes widened and he stared at Puck.  He appeared to be thinking back for a moment, as though trying to evaluate what he'd said or left unsaid, then finally murmured, "No.  I'm sorry, I should have said that first, right?"  He forced a weak smile that just made him look sadder.  "There will be plenty of make-up sex tomorrow, don't worry, but right now..."  
  
Puck moved back on the bed.  "C'mere."  Kurt looked at him uneasily, unsure why Puck would offer such a thing.  After all, here he was crying over the guy who wasn't Puck, forgetting key details like telling him that they weren't breaking up, that he had chosen...even if he kind of winced every time  he thought the word 'choose' because it hadn't been a choice.  Not a fair one, anyway.  And not one that had made any sense to him.  
  
He toed off his half-laced boots and crept over to the bed, lying on his side and facing away from Puck.  He felt ridiculous, crying this much - he wasn't being broken up with, what right did he have?  He still had a boyfriend at the end of the night.  He hadn't been jumping through hoops for the better part of a month to try to prove he was better than some other guy.  What right did he have to feel this horrible?  He felt Puck's defined bicep against his shoulder as a strong arm wrapped around him, hand splayed in the middle of his chest, pulling him backwards just a little - closer.  He could feel Puck's hesitant breathing, the way he shifted kind of tensely before he asked, "Why?"  
  
"I don't know," Kurt whispered into the silence of the rest of the room, because in truth he didn't.  "Every time I tried to put the two of you side by side, he...he won - or he should have won.  But the idea of being with him and not you...the idea of being without you, I just...I couldn't get past it.  Something intangible kept outweighing everything that should have been neat and ordered and comparable.  I think in the end-"  He swallowed hard to keep himself together.  "He understands all the things about the gay parts of me, the things you'll never get - or at least, will never voluntarily get, I suppose if I force you to watch Sound of Music enough times you might see some of it," he added with a forced laugh.  "But that's only part of me...and you get the rest."  
  
That was the only thing Kurt could come up with to explain the wholly illogical decision he'd made.  Blaine would never get what Mother's Day felt like for him, or how fucking scared he was of something happening to his dad, or why empty houses meant something.  For some reason that had tipped the balance more than being able to sing the entire libretto of Evita off the top of one's head or having watched Devil Wears Prada more than three dozen times.  Somehow the deeper things - though fewer in number and frequency of occurrence - had won out over everything he'd ever thought he wanted in a boyfriend.  
  
If only that kept him from feeling like such a jerk.  
  
Puck nodded slowly against his shoulder, but he said nothing; right then, silence was exactly what Kurt needed. 


	8. Chapter 8

There were few things about the morning Puck hated more than waking up before the alarm and being unable to fall back asleep. It had been one of those nights where he kept alternating between dozing and watching Kurt sleep. The only time he'd actually fallen asleep and had it last more than about half an hour, he'd woken with a start to the stupid loud chime on Kurt's phone. Fishing it out in case it was Kurt's dad freaking out - it was well after midnight - he saw instead a single text from Finn.  
  
 _u o me dude rents r pssdd but i covrd_  
  
With the one arm he could get to without disturbing Kurt, who had finally fallen asleep curled around one of the pillows and clutching it almost for dear life, he shifted the phone and thumbed slowly:  _its puck bad nite thx_  
  
He hit 'send', then thought a moment and typed a second message.  
  
 _trash ribbons n sins n shit._    
  
So when he woke up at 5:30, he knew there wasn't much chance he would actually get more rest before the alarm went off at 6. He stared at the wall and listened to Kurt breathe - the pattern was slow, steady, not shaky or otherwise like he was crying in his sleep again. That was good, at least. It sucked that Kurt had to get hurt in all this - even if the idea had been stupid, and he was glad he won and everything, he still kinda hated seeing the guy cry.   
  
He slipped carefully out of bed and waited to see if Kurt would stir; when he didn't, Puck adjusted the blanket a little over him before padding downstairs. It was definitely a morning for coffee. Probably a day for more than that, he could tell already. The night before had been like the most anticlimactic football championship ever, so by the end even when you win you're just fucking  _tired_  instead of really being happy about it.   
  
He still didn't know how he won. Kurt had said something about getting all the non-gay parts of him, but that didn't make any sense. All of Kurt was gay. Not like in a bad way, not like Puck used to think or anything, but it was kinda the first thing people noticed for a reason. His clothes, the way he walked, the stuff he was into...he wasn't sure what was left about Kurt that  _wasn't_  gay. And considering the only thing they'd never had problems with was literally the gayest part of the relationship - because two guys fucking and blowing each other was pretty damned gay - it made even less sense.  
  
Not like he was complaining. It just didn't make a lot of sense.  
  
As he padded to the kitchen, he saw Blaine sitting at the table, a cup of coffee beside him, writing something with intense concentration. He started to turn back and give the guy space, but Blaine said without looking up, "I'm not going to sic 20 angry schoolboys on you or anything, you can come into your own kitchen."  
  
Puck refrained from pointing out that he could totally take the 20 angry schoolboys; he'd seen them. Only like one would give him a run for his money, and the rest were practically citizens of Munchkinland. Blaine seriously didn't even look that short with most of them. But the guy'd had a shitty night, so he didn't need to rub his nose in it. He just walked through to the coffee maker and started pouring two cups. "You okay?" he asked finally. Blaine wasn't a bad guy, he wasn't some jerk he could easily hate or some really freaking obnoxious queen he'd want to strangle after five minutes; if Blaine was just some guy in glee club with him, they probably could've gotten along well enough. He still did have the best taste in video games out of the whole group.   
  
Blaine nodded solemnly. "More or less. It's a breakup, so those always suck, but I'll be okay," he offered quietly, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself than Puck. "I was just writing a thank you note to your mom for letting me stay here, my rent's in the sugar bowl since I know she gives you crap about it but then refuses to actually take it from me when I offer."  
  
"Where are you going?" he asked. "Back to Dalton?" That would about kill Kurt, never seeing him like that. And Ms. Sylvester would probably hunt him down and kill him personally.  
  
Blaine shook his head. "Quinn's letting me stay with her. I don't know what she said to her mother, but she was quite proud of herself and my have used words I didn't know she was capable of. I might be a fake Christian now, but at least it's in English," he added as a weak joke. "I think it's temporary until we can convince Sam's parents to let me crash there, especially since they're home almost as seldom as my parents. That's okay, right? I know they're your friends, she's your ex-"  
  
"Course, man" Puck replied. He was surprised by Quinn's offer, that she would be the one to step in; maybe Kurt had talked to her beforehand. "And I'm not kicking you out or whatever, if you wanna come by or...hang out with him or whatever..." He knew Kurt well enough to know nothing was going to happen, and he knew Blaine enough to know that even if Kurt was tempted to do something, the guy'd be honourable and shit; he'd freaking asked permission before they started dating.   
  
Blaine forced a weak smile. "Thanks. I don't think I will for a little while. It'll be hard enough having to sing with him at Cheerios and not-" His smile grew sad, then faded completely. "Well, you know how he is when he sings."  
  
Open, passionate, and completely beautiful - Puck did know. "Yeah." He hesitated, then added, "Don't shove him away, though, man. He still needs you."  
  
Blaine looked like he might start crying in a few minutes but had more pride than that. "I've gotta go - Quinn's picking me up so we can drop off my stuff at her condo before school. Tell him...tell him I couldn't-"  
  
Puck nodded solemnly. He should be doing a victory dance on this guy's head right now, practically jumping up and down and flipping him the bird and saying 'That's what happens when you try and take from Puckzilla - booyah!' But it wasn't like that; it was like if Quinn wanted to come back to him now and broke Sam's heart in the process. He knew how that felt, he knew how much he would have wanted to go out and get smashed off his ass or high out of his mind so he could shove down the feeling of wanting to curl up and die.   
  
He couldn't be all victorious and happy about a dude he didn't hate feeling the way he'd spent all week preparing to feel. Not when it sucked that much.  
  
He fixed his own coffee, then started Kurt's. "Splenda, no-" Blaine said quietly.  
  
"-cream, I know," Puck replied. A couple weeks ago he would've added something about how he wasn't fucking stupid, of course he knew that. Maybe he was growing. He snorted at the thought and rolled his eyes, then carried both cups upstairs.  
  
Kurt grumbled and tried to force himself deeper under the blankets at the blaring noise of the unfamiliar alarm. His head ached like he'd spent a week crying or tried to sleep of a panic attack, and he felt just as exhausted as if either of those had been the case. Forcing one eye open despite how dry and gritty it felt, he looked around and tried to figure out where he was based mostly on the edge of the covers and what little he could see of the corner of one wall. Puck's room - he knew the duvet really well. The room was dark, but there were faint streaks of light coming through the blinds, which meant it was either just getting dark - doubtful because he wouldn't have been asleep - or the sun was starting to come up.  
  
His eyes snapped open and he whimpered softly at the raw feeling. Why was he at Puck's all night? His dad was going to kill him. Why was he in Puck's bed fully-clothed? What had-  
  
He saw Puck sitting on the edge of the bed with a cup of coffee, just...watching him. And suddenly it all came back with a sickening lurch in his chest - the previous night, why he'd crashed, the look on Blaine's face-  
  
"Yours is on the thing," Puck offered, nodding to the nightstand. Kurt saw a second steaming mug sitting there, and he slowly pulled himself into a sitting position to grab it. He was surprised to find it was exactly how he would have made it himself. Since when did Puck know how he took his coffee? "You okay?"  
  
Kurt nodded weakly. "Yeah," he replied quietly. "It's done, that has to count for something, right?"   
  
He wasn't fine. He ached - everything just  _hurt_ , and the thought of having to drag himself through school was almost too much. Let alone the idea of the conversations he still needed to have with Puck - he didn't have the energy to pull teeth like that for six hours. Let alone having to explain to his dad why he'd stayed the night at his boyfriend's house, in his boyfriend's bed, without even calling to check in and make up a flimsy lie. A hot shower might help with some of it, but he could guarantee Puck's alarm had been set later than his own would have been so he wouldn't have enough time to stand under the spray and stop feeling so dry and raw.  
  
"I guess." Puck didn't look so convinced and offered awkwardly, "Blaine says goodbye. He said he couldn't really stick around to do it himself. You knew he was staying with Quinn?"  
  
"Yes," Kurt replied quietly. Three months of the best friend he'd ever had and they were reduced to secondhand goodbyes through Puck of all people.   
  
It wasn't that he regretted his choice, even if he still didn't understand it. He didn't wish he'd made the other selection now that the cold light of day was upon them. It was just that he was going to miss Blaine so much, and at least for awhile there was no way the friendship was going to be what it had been. But dwelling on the boyfriend he'd given up was only going to hurt Puck; he got that. he got why feeling like anyone's second choice felt like shit, even if you were the person they were with. It wasn't fair to anyone.  
  
"I know it probably seems like I'm not happy," Kurt said slowly, hands curled around the steaming mug. "It's not that, I just-"  
  
"You loved him," Puck surmised dryly.  
  
Kurt nodded. "Yes."  
  
"Then why the hell did you pick me?" he asked quietly. "We both know he's better boyfriend material."  
  
Kurt thought a moment, then shook his head and tried to explain. "He's better best friend material. When we went out, that was what it felt like, and I'm not entirely sure that's a bad thing. Assuming he ever speaks to me again - he was pretty hurt last night." He hesitated, then added, "You're better boyfriend material than you give yourself credit for, you know."  
  
"Right," Puck snorted.  
  
"You had no reason to let him stay here except me. But I swear, Puck, if we can't snap you out of this 'loving someone means letting them go' crap..."  
  
He had wanted Kurt to be happy, he didn't know why that was such a bad thing. But the use of 'we' was encouraging. He didn't particularly want to feel like Kurt was training him, it was patronizing as fuck and kind of obnoxious, but he guessed...in a way, it made sense, a little. He wasn't the perfect boyfriend and never had been, but the guy was giving him a chance to be a halfway decent guy. Like it mattered if he was  _trying_  to do the right thing even when it got fucked-up.  
  
It was a weird feeling and sort of...okay, fine, completely...terrifying. It was a lot easier to just not even bother, to not give a fuck, to keep his mouth shut or make some snarky comment about how badass he was. This...  
  
He felt a lot less naked when he was actually naked.  
  
The idea of admitting to being scared was still too foreign for him to contemplate, so he went with the closest thing he could muster out loud. "A real badass stays to fight," he stated, and Kurt smiled faintly.  
  
"Only took three months for that one to sink it." It wasn't the best comeback, but the droll sarcasm sounded more like Kurt than the previous part of the conversation had - that was a good sign, Puck figured.   
  
An awkward silence fell over them, and he shifted on the edge of the bed. He knew what Kurt wanted him to say, he knew he was waiting for the 'And I"m not sleeping with women anymore' conversation, but he wasn't ready to go there. Not because he wanted anyone else right now, or tomorrow, or Friday night. Not because he couldn't resist Santana in that Cheerios skirt - he still liked it, he liked looking at the new boobs, she was smokin'. But he could refrain - he had been, anyway. But the thing was...when Kurt got pissed at him for something stupid the next time, he was gonna want to go fuck someone hot. At least now, Kurt couldn't get pissed at him for that on top of whatever else he thought he'd done wrong.   
  
Promises were a big fucking deal. You didn't say you'd step up if you weren't gonna, you didn't say you were coming home if you weren't, and you didn't say you weren't gonna screw any hot chicks if you thought you might. He'd never really tried resisting urges before, and hedonism was cool for a reason. It felt good. It felt good to feel good. What was so wrong with that?  
  
...until feeling good meant dating two different guys who bent over backwards to try to make you like them better. Until feeling good meant the other person felt like shit.  
  
Okay, he could get that now.   
  
Still, he didn't want to make promises he didn't know if he could keep. But he could man up about it, so instead he said, "The thing's closed now?"  
  
"Hm?" Kurt mumbled against the rim of his mug, glancing up at him.  
  
"The relationship's closed - no one else on the side or dating or whatever."  
  
Kurt's eyes widened as he lowered the cup from his lips and regarded him skeptically. "Yes?"  
  
"You ditched Blaine, I'm not screwing Santana - or Brittany, or whoever - so why not just say it?"  
  
Kurt had this stunned look on his face, like he wasn't expecting Puck to ever say those words, and Puck couldn't for the life of him figure out why not. The guy broke up with his boyfriend to just date him, what kind of douchebag didn't at least offer? He wasn't gonna go all soft and candy-and-roses or whatever, but he could still totally be a badass and not be a jerk. Kind of like how, if Quinn had wanted to keep Beth, he could be a dad and be a badass - just a badass who stuck around even if shit was rough. Like how James Bond could be a badass and a decent dude at the same time.  
  
"I might fuck it up, but I want to-...I'm gonna try not to," he added quietly. It about broke his sappy quotient for the month - hell, for the year - but he meant it.   
  
Somehow Kurt set the mug on the nightstand and scrambled over to him in record time - he wondered if Kurt secretly had warp speed or something he'd just never noticed before. Kneeling beside him, one hand came to rest on Puck's shoulder while the other cradled his jaw. The look in Kurt's eyes made him kind of uncomfortable, this intense gratitude that he couldn't come close to understanding and made him feel a little like...if that was the way Kurt was looking at him, there was no way he'd be able to live up to that.  
  
No, he decided firmly. No - none of this whiny pity bullshit. He could do fucking anything. He was the guy who managed to make dating a dude cool at McKinley; he was totally badass enough to be a decent boyfriend. He could so rock this. He was the dude who melted the ice queen and could get a guy that uptight  _begging_  and  _needy_  - in a sex way or not, either way.   
  
There was nothing Puckasawrus couldn't do. No way was he too much of a punk to keep his man.  
  
Kurt practically dove for his lips, and Puck grinned into the kiss. This he could always rock - and if admitting to deep shit and stuff that scared him got Kurt responding like this, it was a pretty good fucking incentive. He wrapped his hand around the back of Kurt's neck and laid back slowly, dragging his boyfriend with him. Kurt shifted awkwardly as he swung his leg to the side, then settled against Puck, straddling his hips. He could definitely fucking be 'in touch with his feelings' or shit if it got him morning makeouts and grinding.  
  
The chirp of Kurt's phone was just as annoying then as it had been in the middle of the night, and he groaned as Kurt sat up and reached over to snag it awkwardly from the nightstand. "C'mon, just ignore it," Puck pleaded, reaching up to let his hand skim over Kurt's chest, rubbing the nipple through his shirt - it was rare to have Kurt in only one layer, and he planned on taking full advantage of it.  
  
Kurt let out a shuddery sigh but didn't put the phone away. "Finn still needs a ride to school."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So that's the message," he replied, reluctantly moving away. Puck sat up and reached to grab him and drag him back onto the bed, but Kurt ducked playfully out of his grasp. He still seemed tired and a little sad, but in a way that was normal and kind of okay. "We have to get ready."  
  
"Why? C'mon - you're ahead of everyone in that school and I don't go to class anyway," Puck pointed out totally reasonably.  
  
"Ms. Sylvester will shave my head. I can't afford to miss a day after I screwed up so badly at the last practice." God, had that only been yesterday? It felt like years ago already. No wonder they were all so exhausted. "I'm just going to take a quick shower. Lucky for everyone I have hair product in my bag."  
  
"Sure. I just need to shave - unless you want company," Puck added with a grin like he was trying to be completely helpful.  
  
Kurt pulled a classic bitch-face - the kind Puck totally dug because one of the things he liked best about Kurt was the way he was snarky as hell and kind of a pain in the ass to people and didn't put up with their shit. If they could keep the smartass thing, he might not mind the whole...open thing quite as much; he was never going to be the kind of guy who really liked the romance shit. It was okay sometimes, and it was always cool to feel wanted, but the closest he was gonna get was singing on the quad...and as long as Kurt was keeping his deadpan 'I'm not even talking to you' face, it made Puck think that part was still okay. He hoped so, at least - even if he was willing to try and shit.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Finn hopped out of the Navigator almost as soon as Kurt had turned off the ignition. There were days his level of energy was like an exuberant puppy and just seemed impossibly high - today was one of those days and then some. Kurt leaned heavily against the seat and stared out the windshield. "You sure you don't wanna ditch this? There are like four parks less than ten minutes from here where no one would come looking, and we know the back of this thing is totally big enough for pretty much anything we want," Puck offered. Kurt's response was tired, but it was a a smile. "Or we can go get drunk and have sex at my house - whatever you want."  
  
"If I didn't think I'd pass out as soon as I hit your bed, I'd take you up on it," Kurt replied. He shifted in his seat to look at Puck instead of glancing at him sideways. "But thank you. You have every right to tell me to shut the fuck up and get over it, he's the guy you've been fighting with for me for weeks now."  
  
Puck shrugged. "You love him. It sucks. If you'd picked him, I'd probably be back in juvie already for whatever I would've done last night."  
  
And then Puck said something that included an unequivocal, plain statement of his feelings that Kurt felt like he should've been waiting for all this time, but the three words in the middle of the sentence weren't what got to him. It was the look on Puck's face - the way his mouth got tight and nervous after he said it, the kind of downcast eyes like he didn't trust either of them enough to look up, the almost 'what the hell did you say that for?' eye roll his gave himself. It was the halting tone of voice and the way he kind of stopped cold after he got the sentence out.  
  
Puck had been scared but said it anyway. That was what plucked something in him and made him feel like his entire body was vibrating and hot and like his blood was rushing in his ears. The words- they were fine. They were something he'd known for months and felt for about that long. They had never been something he needed to hear from Puck to know to be true...but Puck  _saying_  the words?   
  
He would have settled for Puck being able to sing them; that would have been an immense improvement. Singing them and not running away would have meant the world to him and shown how much his boyfriend had grown since their non-breakup a few months earlier. But this? He's  _said_  them. He'd  _spoken_  them not an hour after he'd had the start of an actual conversation.  
  
He didn't need to necessarily hear Puck ever say it again - he wouldn't complain if Puck decided he wanted to, but it wasn't a requisite. The one time was enough of a breakthrough to prove he  _could_. It was plenty. It was a start. Because if the guy was willing to put it out on the table even when he wasn't comfortable, if it wasn't just going to be on his terms or involve bolting when it got too intense...it meant they could figure out the rest.  
  
Puck was trainable. Quinn had been right - given the chance, he would step up. He felt like the world's biggest jerk for ever doubting that now, even though he knew at the time it had been justified.  
  
He reached over to run his hand lightly over the mohawk as he murmured his response, and Puck just glared at him in a way that wasn't serious at all - he was the only one who could get away with that, he knew, and he took a little pride in it. "Let's go," he said. "I have to change into my uniform still before homeroom." He was glad he kept a spare one in his locker - it was originally in case disaster struck and a slushie scrimmage began, but now it was convenient for other reasons. Hopping out of the car, he straightened his jacket, grateful that his fashion sense precluded him from wearing crappy lounging clothes even when he was going nowhere but his boyfriend's house; while what he was wearing wasn't fantastic, it wasn't embarrassing or hideous.   
  
Puck met him at the front of the car as they began the long trek from the edge of the parking lot allotted to sophomores. Kurt drew in a deep breath and sidled a little closer as he walked, his left hand brushing the back of Puck's right. Hoping Puck wouldn't irrationally shove him away or something, he reached over and grasped Puck's hand. Puck looked over, a little startled but not irritated in the least. Kurt interlaced their fingers and gave him a small smile; Puck's look was more bemused than euphoric, but like he didn't really mind this hand-holding thing even if it wasn't his style and he seemed to recall there being a rule against it at one point.  
  
Kurt always had broken the rules he thought were stupid.  
  
He had wanted this part for so long - being able to walk around school with his boyfriend's hand in his, feeling this way...and now he found it terrifying. In the parking lot where he'd spent every morning of his first year at McKinley trying to claw his way out of the giant metal bins without getting more crap on him, where no teachers monitored any kinds of harassment or bullying, where the day before had been a sea of red "team Blaine" ribbons...without so much as his uniform for protection...he had never felt more  _normal_  in his life.  
  
Brittany, Santana, and Quinn were over near the gym entrance, and Quinn smiled more broadly when she saw them than Kurt could ever remember seeing her smile. It disappeared quickly as she reached up to tighten her ponytail, but he understood fully. The uniform meant certain things, certain walls, a sense of decorum. Santana glared, but he noticed she didn't seem to mind Brittany's pinky linked through hers. She'd find another guy - or six - soon anyway and would certainly find ways to keep busy in the afternoons until then.  
  
In spite of the complete emotional exhaustion of the past 24 hours - hell, the past few weeks - he found he couldn't stop himself from smiling as he walked hand-in-hand with Puck past the dumpsters and into the school.


End file.
